AGGRESSION 71: Rich Mahogany v. Adrian Willard
- Thread starter DBrunkGXW
- Start date
This guy again? Really? Really? REALLY?
[SHAZAM~!]
“What’s up, schmucks?”
[Rich Mahogany is in full effect. That is to say modestly dressed in a salmon-colored man-thong with matching neckerchief, four-dollar gas station flip-flops, and those big goofy looking glasses that are shaped like over-sized hearts. Also he’s covered from head to toe in some sort of glistening oil.]
RICH:
It’s yer ol’ pal Rich here, again, and I can’t help but feel we’ve been here before. Nah’mean?
[FLASHBACK: Russian Roulette.]
[Lots of things happened, but most importantly the Vascular Vegan Vaginatarian clearly and decisively pinned Adrian Willard for the EPW Television Title. By way of a Schoolboy. I know, impressive.]
[FLASHBACK: To the Future! Er, present. WTFevz.]
RICH:
Now I know that MY PAL DAN RYAN has booked this big Intercockinental Title thing for myself, Tedderick Alexander, Larry Tact, and you, Adelaide Willard, and I know that Booking 101 states that in order to build to a ZOMG HUGE PPV MATCH you have to start with little matches that have interconnected history, but for the sake of everything anybody in the Empire holds holy, WHY AM I STUCK TALKING TO YOU AGAIN?
[Mr. Morning After mocks pulling his hair out.]
RICH:
I mean, seriously, didn’t I embarrass you enough for one lifetime when I took that TV Title from you that you worked so hard beating Cameron Cruise twelve times in a row to earn? Remember how I went off on this whole tirade about how I would cheat and it wouldn't matter because I’d still win? Remember how many dick-jokes I made at your expense?
WELL DO YOU?
I won’t be making anymore dick-jokes about you this time, though, because frankly the only dick-joke around here is what’s in your pants. That’s right, small-fry, I already kicked yer stinkin’ teeth in, and I went on to bigger and better things like embarrassing Anarky and losing to Larry Tact and getting my head caved in by a couple of wannabe Mahogany’s when my tits-for-brains partner decided to turn on me, meanwhile you’ve been the same vaccum of suck that you always were, and you’ve went on to...
I dunno, what have you done?
I can tell you that I’ve done almost nothing and here I find myself smack dab in the middle of the same boat as you are, shooting for that EYE SEE Title at Unleashed against the guy that took the TV Title from me and some other dude who’s name I can’t be bothered to get right.
[aside] I’m talking to you, Teddo Alexando.
[The Ladies Man giggles to himself.]
RICH:
So, I guess here’s the plan:
I’ll show up, kick you in the weiner, and pin you again, for old time’s sake. Then next Aggression it’ll probably be some ass-backwards tag-team match, and then at Unleashed WHEN BUSINESS STARTS TO PICK UP maybe I’ll take fifteen minutes out of my busy schedule of boning chicks who have you locked up tight in the friend-zone and I’ll say something that matters.
Until then, you’re gay, you raging homo.
[Thumbs up.]
RICH:
Cheers!
[End.]
[SHAZAM~!]
“What’s up, schmucks?”
[Rich Mahogany is in full effect. That is to say modestly dressed in a salmon-colored man-thong with matching neckerchief, four-dollar gas station flip-flops, and those big goofy looking glasses that are shaped like over-sized hearts. Also he’s covered from head to toe in some sort of glistening oil.]
RICH:
It’s yer ol’ pal Rich here, again, and I can’t help but feel we’ve been here before. Nah’mean?
[FLASHBACK: Russian Roulette.]
[Lots of things happened, but most importantly the Vascular Vegan Vaginatarian clearly and decisively pinned Adrian Willard for the EPW Television Title. By way of a Schoolboy. I know, impressive.]
[FLASHBACK: To the Future! Er, present. WTFevz.]
RICH:
Now I know that MY PAL DAN RYAN has booked this big Intercockinental Title thing for myself, Tedderick Alexander, Larry Tact, and you, Adelaide Willard, and I know that Booking 101 states that in order to build to a ZOMG HUGE PPV MATCH you have to start with little matches that have interconnected history, but for the sake of everything anybody in the Empire holds holy, WHY AM I STUCK TALKING TO YOU AGAIN?
[Mr. Morning After mocks pulling his hair out.]
RICH:
I mean, seriously, didn’t I embarrass you enough for one lifetime when I took that TV Title from you that you worked so hard beating Cameron Cruise twelve times in a row to earn? Remember how I went off on this whole tirade about how I would cheat and it wouldn't matter because I’d still win? Remember how many dick-jokes I made at your expense?
WELL DO YOU?
I won’t be making anymore dick-jokes about you this time, though, because frankly the only dick-joke around here is what’s in your pants. That’s right, small-fry, I already kicked yer stinkin’ teeth in, and I went on to bigger and better things like embarrassing Anarky and losing to Larry Tact and getting my head caved in by a couple of wannabe Mahogany’s when my tits-for-brains partner decided to turn on me, meanwhile you’ve been the same vaccum of suck that you always were, and you’ve went on to...
I dunno, what have you done?
I can tell you that I’ve done almost nothing and here I find myself smack dab in the middle of the same boat as you are, shooting for that EYE SEE Title at Unleashed against the guy that took the TV Title from me and some other dude who’s name I can’t be bothered to get right.
[aside] I’m talking to you, Teddo Alexando.
[The Ladies Man giggles to himself.]
RICH:
So, I guess here’s the plan:
I’ll show up, kick you in the weiner, and pin you again, for old time’s sake. Then next Aggression it’ll probably be some ass-backwards tag-team match, and then at Unleashed WHEN BUSINESS STARTS TO PICK UP maybe I’ll take fifteen minutes out of my busy schedule of boning chicks who have you locked up tight in the friend-zone and I’ll say something that matters.
Until then, you’re gay, you raging homo.
[Thumbs up.]
RICH:
Cheers!
[End.]
John Doe
The Anorexic Ethiopian
A Change of Vision
FADE IN…
[Adrian Willard is standing in a room, lowly dimmed, empty. He stands there black plain tight tshirt, black cargo pants, black boots. The lighting makes it so half of his face is dark, the other half just partially seen. His eyes piercing into the camera as he begins to speak.]
WILLARD: Good versus evil has been around since the birth of man. Light versus dark, hero versus villain, you get the idea. Over the last few weeks I have had off from Empire, I have had an epiphany. Layman’s terms for you, Rich, a realization.
That sadly you were right. You were right from the minute you opened that gingivitis filled mouth of yours. It doesn’t matter how you win, HERE. The good guy loses.
Because Empire Pro, Dan Ryan, the stockholders, they glorify men that bend the rules, they reward people like you for cheating.
[We can tell he is beginning to grow upset as his face scowls.]
WILLARD: While men like me, men with standards, honor, valor, we are left to rot. We are left to be used as subservient slaves to the industry and corporation. Because we do things the right way, we do things how they were originally intended.
Lemmings. Fools. Puppets. However you want to describe it.
No matter how many times Dan Ryan watches you gain a handful of tights, use the ropes, poke people in the eyes or low blow opponents, nothing happens.
[He shakes his head chuckling]
WILLARD: Not one disciplinary action, not a thing. It’s not like you are some spectacle of man or some great wrestler, some amazing athlete. You are a clown, a man stuck in his teenage years reliving getting his pecker up for the first time because he finally reached second base with a girl.
You are a hack. A hack that skates by and does the bare minimum.
Yet gets rewarded.
Look at me, Rich. I have worked hard my whole life. I have been in the gym every day since I can recall. Studied and trained in the art of wrestling. I have gone leaps and bounds, busted my ass only to get screwed by the system that was made to protect the integrity of the sport.
A system made to defend hard workers and earners like myself.
I don’t blame you Rich, hell if your mother offered to still wipe your ass for you, you would take the offer. That’s just the person you are.
Lazy. No work ethic. A PARASITE.
[He shakes his finger at the camera in a pointing manner.]
WILLARD: Yet…I still don’t blame you, Rich.
I blame the system, for feeding you.
To be honest, I questioned returning to this ring during my vacation time off. I thought about it all, thought about you when the booking was made. Thought about how the system allows someone so weak, frail, and pathetic as you wrestle.
Not only wrestle, but get pushed.
And it came down to one thing. The rules, the rules are never enforced here in Empire Pro. If the rules don’t apply to such a piece of sh*t as you, Rich…
Why should they apply to…me?
[He looks at the camera, a sinister look in his face.]
WILLARD: So let me throw this at you, Rich.
When a man…
As strong as me.
As big as me.
As dangerous as me.
Decides the rules no longer apply to him as well…what happens to the little b*tch who got beat pillar to post and pinned by me at Russian Roulette?
Ah, you don’t talk about that part of the match do you, Rich?
Where I beat you FAIRLY and out of the good graces of my heart let you have a rematch before you went crying home to mommy dearest about the bad man who whooped you.
And while you have been getting your head caved in, getting pinned by an [sarcastic] IMPRESSIVE yet CLEAN inside cradle from Larry Tact, beating Anarky and going nowhere with it. I have been relaxing. Thinking of ways to hurt you, thinking of ways to maim you.
Because I can, Rich. I have, Rich. I WILL, Rich.
So, while you sit there making your dick jokes, being ever so witty. I will be preparing to do what you did upon me.
[He cracks his knuckles and neck.]
WILLARD: Eye for an eye.
The way I see it, if the powers that be don’t want to punish you for bending the rules, breaking the rules. Then maybe there should be a force that does.
A force that plays at the same level as you.
When I get my hands on you and attempt to cave that pretty little face of yours in with my fist.
When I pick you up and slam you into that canvass with every intention to put you in a wheel chair for life.
When I give you Higher Vision with every ounce of force aiming to put you on a feeding tube…
I want you to remember this:
You laid the ground work.
You created this.
And before you even ask, no I am not mad bro.
I am furious.
It’s been envisioned.
FADE OUT
FADE IN…
[Adrian Willard is standing in a room, lowly dimmed, empty. He stands there black plain tight tshirt, black cargo pants, black boots. The lighting makes it so half of his face is dark, the other half just partially seen. His eyes piercing into the camera as he begins to speak.]
WILLARD: Good versus evil has been around since the birth of man. Light versus dark, hero versus villain, you get the idea. Over the last few weeks I have had off from Empire, I have had an epiphany. Layman’s terms for you, Rich, a realization.
That sadly you were right. You were right from the minute you opened that gingivitis filled mouth of yours. It doesn’t matter how you win, HERE. The good guy loses.
Because Empire Pro, Dan Ryan, the stockholders, they glorify men that bend the rules, they reward people like you for cheating.
[We can tell he is beginning to grow upset as his face scowls.]
WILLARD: While men like me, men with standards, honor, valor, we are left to rot. We are left to be used as subservient slaves to the industry and corporation. Because we do things the right way, we do things how they were originally intended.
Lemmings. Fools. Puppets. However you want to describe it.
No matter how many times Dan Ryan watches you gain a handful of tights, use the ropes, poke people in the eyes or low blow opponents, nothing happens.
[He shakes his head chuckling]
WILLARD: Not one disciplinary action, not a thing. It’s not like you are some spectacle of man or some great wrestler, some amazing athlete. You are a clown, a man stuck in his teenage years reliving getting his pecker up for the first time because he finally reached second base with a girl.
You are a hack. A hack that skates by and does the bare minimum.
Yet gets rewarded.
Look at me, Rich. I have worked hard my whole life. I have been in the gym every day since I can recall. Studied and trained in the art of wrestling. I have gone leaps and bounds, busted my ass only to get screwed by the system that was made to protect the integrity of the sport.
A system made to defend hard workers and earners like myself.
I don’t blame you Rich, hell if your mother offered to still wipe your ass for you, you would take the offer. That’s just the person you are.
Lazy. No work ethic. A PARASITE.
[He shakes his finger at the camera in a pointing manner.]
WILLARD: Yet…I still don’t blame you, Rich.
I blame the system, for feeding you.
To be honest, I questioned returning to this ring during my vacation time off. I thought about it all, thought about you when the booking was made. Thought about how the system allows someone so weak, frail, and pathetic as you wrestle.
Not only wrestle, but get pushed.
And it came down to one thing. The rules, the rules are never enforced here in Empire Pro. If the rules don’t apply to such a piece of sh*t as you, Rich…
Why should they apply to…me?
[He looks at the camera, a sinister look in his face.]
WILLARD: So let me throw this at you, Rich.
When a man…
As strong as me.
As big as me.
As dangerous as me.
Decides the rules no longer apply to him as well…what happens to the little b*tch who got beat pillar to post and pinned by me at Russian Roulette?
Ah, you don’t talk about that part of the match do you, Rich?
Where I beat you FAIRLY and out of the good graces of my heart let you have a rematch before you went crying home to mommy dearest about the bad man who whooped you.
And while you have been getting your head caved in, getting pinned by an [sarcastic] IMPRESSIVE yet CLEAN inside cradle from Larry Tact, beating Anarky and going nowhere with it. I have been relaxing. Thinking of ways to hurt you, thinking of ways to maim you.
Because I can, Rich. I have, Rich. I WILL, Rich.
So, while you sit there making your dick jokes, being ever so witty. I will be preparing to do what you did upon me.
[He cracks his knuckles and neck.]
WILLARD: Eye for an eye.
The way I see it, if the powers that be don’t want to punish you for bending the rules, breaking the rules. Then maybe there should be a force that does.
A force that plays at the same level as you.
When I get my hands on you and attempt to cave that pretty little face of yours in with my fist.
When I pick you up and slam you into that canvass with every intention to put you in a wheel chair for life.
When I give you Higher Vision with every ounce of force aiming to put you on a feeding tube…
I want you to remember this:
You laid the ground work.
You created this.
And before you even ask, no I am not mad bro.
I am furious.
It’s been envisioned.
FADE OUT
I can't even take you seriously.
“WHAT?! No! I wasn’t right, you slack-jawed muffin-tosser, I was talking sideways out of my ass trying to get anyone and everyone to PAY ATTENTION TO ME!”
[Fade it on up, much like morning wood: unrequested, but not altogether unenjoyable.]
RICH:
Way back in, what was this, February? I can’t really be bothered with dates and timelines and the like, but way back in the day when I slapped you around like my bottom bitch and goaded you into restarting a match that had no business being restarted and took the TV Title from you just like I took your sister’s sweet cherry from her, I was just bustin yer chops, yanno, tryna get a rise.
And guess what, smart guy, it worked.
Speaking of popping things, I hate to burst your bubble again so quickly but it has never and will never be so deep as to be about “good” versus “evil.” We could argue that point for eons but since you don’t pay attention to anything with any semblance of cognitive impression it’s no wonder that you missed where I turned babyface a few weeks ago.
[See that, that was the fourth wall.]
RICH:
That means I’m the good guy now, and the crowd cheers for me. You’re the over-serious douchenozzle who both thinks too highly of himself, for whatever reason, and who thinks that if he tries real hard to string a few three dollar words together people will take him seriously but they won’t because you’re an annoying Puerto Rican homofag who’s made a career out of thinking that pinning Cameron Cruise three times somehow magically makes you worthwhile.
Let me stick the head in just a little and give you a Pro-Tip:
You’re not. Fag.
[Good Lord, hit a nerve much?]
RICH:
You’ve worked and studied and trained and BUSTED YOUR HUMP for your entire life to be a heat-retardant fag whose sole purpose in a wrestling promotion is to be just good enough in the ring to make rising stars like me look good on the way to doing something that matters for more than seven minutes.
Take that in, Anderson Cooper, you’re what we in the know call a Midcarder for Life, a Ham-n-Egger, a Curtain Jerker, a JOBBAH TO THE STAHS baby! Think about it, nobody takes you seriously, you keep getting put in the same situations over and over again and no matter how hard you try to make something out of nothing, the same shit keeps happening to you over and over again. Now, don’t let the Rich-Man come off as ungrateful, hell if it weren’t for bums like you then who’d put the ring together and sell tickets and sell gimmicks at the table before the shows and then sweep up after? And then where would we be?
In the jungle, swingin’ from trees, that’s where.
[Snicker.]
RICH:
But I digress. I couldn’t help but be distracted listening to you, you Spooky Doom-actin’ motherfucker, because all you did for a solid five minutes was bitch and moan and cry and make excuses. Again, like a woman. A retarded woman who doesn’t understand the majesty of a fish sammich and a glass of good Courvoisier after a quickie in a McDonalds bathroom.
You think too much, you talk too much, and you don’t understand enough.
I mean, I really believe that you actually think that this is somehow really about good and evil and all of that nonsense. Pfft! PSSHAW I SAY! This is about smart versus stupid. Ignorant against Intelligent.
Coke. Versus. Pepsi.
So go ahead, tell yourself that you’re right. Tell yourself whatever the hell you have to to be up for the match, because when we get in the ring at Aggression I’m not just gonna be “up” for it, I’m gonna buttfuck your eye sockets dry and do my best to blow a load of understanding into your brain the hard way. And when all that’s said and done with, maybe MY FRIEND DAN RYAN will go ahead and give you that release you almost asked for and replace you in the Intercockinental Title match at the Pee-Pee-Vee with a bowl of Top Ramen.
You know, because Ramen is good.
[Thumbs up, hips gyrate, teeth gleam.]
RICH:
WTFevz, bro. The story of your life is a means to an end, and that’s all you’ll ever be. And just so we’re clear, after this is all said and done with you are under no circumstances to ever ask for a shot at my shiny new title belt! This is seriously the last time I’m going to get all wrapped up in explaining to a retarded faggot why he rubs poop in his hair and takes dick in the throat.
Now can you dig my steez, or what?
[Sweet, merciful end.]
“WHAT?! No! I wasn’t right, you slack-jawed muffin-tosser, I was talking sideways out of my ass trying to get anyone and everyone to PAY ATTENTION TO ME!”
[Fade it on up, much like morning wood: unrequested, but not altogether unenjoyable.]
RICH:
Way back in, what was this, February? I can’t really be bothered with dates and timelines and the like, but way back in the day when I slapped you around like my bottom bitch and goaded you into restarting a match that had no business being restarted and took the TV Title from you just like I took your sister’s sweet cherry from her, I was just bustin yer chops, yanno, tryna get a rise.
And guess what, smart guy, it worked.
Speaking of popping things, I hate to burst your bubble again so quickly but it has never and will never be so deep as to be about “good” versus “evil.” We could argue that point for eons but since you don’t pay attention to anything with any semblance of cognitive impression it’s no wonder that you missed where I turned babyface a few weeks ago.
[See that, that was the fourth wall.]
RICH:
That means I’m the good guy now, and the crowd cheers for me. You’re the over-serious douchenozzle who both thinks too highly of himself, for whatever reason, and who thinks that if he tries real hard to string a few three dollar words together people will take him seriously but they won’t because you’re an annoying Puerto Rican homofag who’s made a career out of thinking that pinning Cameron Cruise three times somehow magically makes you worthwhile.
Let me stick the head in just a little and give you a Pro-Tip:
You’re not. Fag.
[Good Lord, hit a nerve much?]
RICH:
You’ve worked and studied and trained and BUSTED YOUR HUMP for your entire life to be a heat-retardant fag whose sole purpose in a wrestling promotion is to be just good enough in the ring to make rising stars like me look good on the way to doing something that matters for more than seven minutes.
Take that in, Anderson Cooper, you’re what we in the know call a Midcarder for Life, a Ham-n-Egger, a Curtain Jerker, a JOBBAH TO THE STAHS baby! Think about it, nobody takes you seriously, you keep getting put in the same situations over and over again and no matter how hard you try to make something out of nothing, the same shit keeps happening to you over and over again. Now, don’t let the Rich-Man come off as ungrateful, hell if it weren’t for bums like you then who’d put the ring together and sell tickets and sell gimmicks at the table before the shows and then sweep up after? And then where would we be?
In the jungle, swingin’ from trees, that’s where.
[Snicker.]
RICH:
But I digress. I couldn’t help but be distracted listening to you, you Spooky Doom-actin’ motherfucker, because all you did for a solid five minutes was bitch and moan and cry and make excuses. Again, like a woman. A retarded woman who doesn’t understand the majesty of a fish sammich and a glass of good Courvoisier after a quickie in a McDonalds bathroom.
You think too much, you talk too much, and you don’t understand enough.
I mean, I really believe that you actually think that this is somehow really about good and evil and all of that nonsense. Pfft! PSSHAW I SAY! This is about smart versus stupid. Ignorant against Intelligent.
Coke. Versus. Pepsi.
So go ahead, tell yourself that you’re right. Tell yourself whatever the hell you have to to be up for the match, because when we get in the ring at Aggression I’m not just gonna be “up” for it, I’m gonna buttfuck your eye sockets dry and do my best to blow a load of understanding into your brain the hard way. And when all that’s said and done with, maybe MY FRIEND DAN RYAN will go ahead and give you that release you almost asked for and replace you in the Intercockinental Title match at the Pee-Pee-Vee with a bowl of Top Ramen.
You know, because Ramen is good.
[Thumbs up, hips gyrate, teeth gleam.]
RICH:
WTFevz, bro. The story of your life is a means to an end, and that’s all you’ll ever be. And just so we’re clear, after this is all said and done with you are under no circumstances to ever ask for a shot at my shiny new title belt! This is seriously the last time I’m going to get all wrapped up in explaining to a retarded faggot why he rubs poop in his hair and takes dick in the throat.
Now can you dig my steez, or what?
[Sweet, merciful end.]
John Doe
The Anorexic Ethiopian
Urban Dictionary - Request Timed Out
BLACKNESS
“D’awh! What’s wrong Richie, they run out of words for you to use on Urban Dictionary?“
FADE IN…
[Adrian Willard is sitting on a bench, camera is facing his side as we have a full view of a wrestling mat. Collegiate wrestling, the birth place and home of Willard is on his training agenda. He is in a pair of workout shorts and a Northern Illinois t-shirt. Behind him a few Huskies are already doing drills, double leg takedowns and single leg sweeps. Adrian looks at the camera smirking, already prepared.]
WILLARD: Only thing left was the word fag?
Eh, I wouldn’t expect anything less of you. Every dog attacks when they are backed into a corner and SCARED.
Or…maybe everything went right over your head…maybe you just don’t get it.
No…clearly, you don’t get it.
You think I am going to take YOU seriously? Rich, you can’t even tell that I am white and NOT Puerto Rican. If you had an iota, just one small cell in that defunct brain of yours you would be seeing the larger, bigger picture here.
That in a few short days your ass is getting in that ring with me. And not the me from February, the nice good ol’ Adrian Willard that would never choke you till your face turns purple.
But an Adrian Willard that wants to concave your skull in. An Adrian Willard that wants to make you the Twenty-Twelve Terri Schiavo.
You’re half way there already, might as well complete the job.
[Adrian begins to lace his wrestling shoes]
WILLARD: Rich, grasp this for a minute if you can. Beating Cameron Cruise, the former Empire Pro Champion, the former Television Champion, The former Intercontinental Champion, a Tag Team Champion, is no small feat.
That man has held more titles than you can even dream of humping…
...Let alone acquiring.
Hell, you couldn’t even hack it in the tag team division. How did King of the Cage turn out for you? Oh, wait that’s right, it didn’t.
Now you want to come to me chest puffed out over little win off Paladin. Who I doubt we will ever see again?
And most likely has a serious case of ringworm post contact with you.
[Fake gaging noise]
WILLARD: Honestly...
Cut the bullsh*t. You haven’t even scratched the surface where I have been, Rich. A man-child like you can never be where I have been, Rich.
I have busted my hump, I have worked day in, day out and I will continue to do that. Did I contemplate not returning? Yes.
Do you know why?
Because I don’t believe you deserve an ounce of credit. I don’t think you deserve to be where you are. And if a person so completely VOID of talent is being pushed then what does that say about the leadership around here?
Who would want to work under such unsanitary conditions?
Trust me when I say I am not letting a one trick pony weasel his way up the chain.
And that’s exactly what you are Rich, a man-child that can only come up with some insults he strung up from internet forums. A man-child who when it comes down to it can’t compete at my level.
You talk a lot of sh*t, Rich, but in the end, you LOST to this [bunny ears during each word]”mid-carder”, this “curtain jerker”, this “ham and egger”.
Let me repeat that to you, YOU LOST TO ME.
Not because I held your tights.
Not because I tossed my feet on the ropes.
No, I decisively, clearly, whomped on you up, down, side to side like the b*tch you are.
So, the question is…what does that say about you, Rich?
[He smiles stretching his arms preparing to get on the mat]
WILLARD: Fact of the matter is, you are at a one and one record with me. And guess what? Your win was ‘cause you cheated.
Isn’t an excuse, it’s a fact. I don’t embellish the truth, Richie, unlike you about your sex life.
But what shock, what awe, you don’t even have a legitimate win against me?
You…you had to cheat to beat me and want to somehow make an argument about it in your favor?
[Adrian is unable to control his laughter and just blurts out cupping his head in his hands and calming down.]
WILLARD: You’re more delusional than the First, doesn’t surprise me.
Here’s something that may though, at Aggression when I beat you AGAIN there won’t be a little rematch.
And the fans can sit there cheering for you as you TRY and make your baby face come back. Only to get a boot right in mouth and be put back in place, begging like the dog you are for me to show some mercy.
Yet no mercy will be given.
Not to the likes of you. Not to the likes of people like you.
People who abuse the system, people who take advantage. People who need to have a coming to Jesus.
There needs to be a reckoning.
A purification.
A person that says this will not stand, this will not continue, and you Rich, you are that sacrificial lamb that I chose to slaughter.
In the end people remember you as just not good enough.
You have never been good enough, maybe that’s where all this stems from. Your little high school insults, your ridiculous personal attacks, your failures at being a human being are all just a façade for a poor and desperate Rich Mahogany.
A Rich Mahogany that shoots from the mouth with no substance.
When we get in that ring at Aggression the jaw jacking ends, Rich. You have to put up or shut up against a man who isn’t going to follow the rules any more.
How will you cope?
How will you feel when the medics scrape you off the canvass like dog sh*t on my shoe?
Only one way to find out right?
It’s been envisioned.
FADE OUT
BLACKNESS
“D’awh! What’s wrong Richie, they run out of words for you to use on Urban Dictionary?“
FADE IN…
[Adrian Willard is sitting on a bench, camera is facing his side as we have a full view of a wrestling mat. Collegiate wrestling, the birth place and home of Willard is on his training agenda. He is in a pair of workout shorts and a Northern Illinois t-shirt. Behind him a few Huskies are already doing drills, double leg takedowns and single leg sweeps. Adrian looks at the camera smirking, already prepared.]
WILLARD: Only thing left was the word fag?
Eh, I wouldn’t expect anything less of you. Every dog attacks when they are backed into a corner and SCARED.
Or…maybe everything went right over your head…maybe you just don’t get it.
No…clearly, you don’t get it.
You think I am going to take YOU seriously? Rich, you can’t even tell that I am white and NOT Puerto Rican. If you had an iota, just one small cell in that defunct brain of yours you would be seeing the larger, bigger picture here.
That in a few short days your ass is getting in that ring with me. And not the me from February, the nice good ol’ Adrian Willard that would never choke you till your face turns purple.
But an Adrian Willard that wants to concave your skull in. An Adrian Willard that wants to make you the Twenty-Twelve Terri Schiavo.
You’re half way there already, might as well complete the job.
[Adrian begins to lace his wrestling shoes]
WILLARD: Rich, grasp this for a minute if you can. Beating Cameron Cruise, the former Empire Pro Champion, the former Television Champion, The former Intercontinental Champion, a Tag Team Champion, is no small feat.
That man has held more titles than you can even dream of humping…
...Let alone acquiring.
Hell, you couldn’t even hack it in the tag team division. How did King of the Cage turn out for you? Oh, wait that’s right, it didn’t.
Now you want to come to me chest puffed out over little win off Paladin. Who I doubt we will ever see again?
And most likely has a serious case of ringworm post contact with you.
[Fake gaging noise]
WILLARD: Honestly...
Cut the bullsh*t. You haven’t even scratched the surface where I have been, Rich. A man-child like you can never be where I have been, Rich.
I have busted my hump, I have worked day in, day out and I will continue to do that. Did I contemplate not returning? Yes.
Do you know why?
Because I don’t believe you deserve an ounce of credit. I don’t think you deserve to be where you are. And if a person so completely VOID of talent is being pushed then what does that say about the leadership around here?
Who would want to work under such unsanitary conditions?
Trust me when I say I am not letting a one trick pony weasel his way up the chain.
And that’s exactly what you are Rich, a man-child that can only come up with some insults he strung up from internet forums. A man-child who when it comes down to it can’t compete at my level.
You talk a lot of sh*t, Rich, but in the end, you LOST to this [bunny ears during each word]”mid-carder”, this “curtain jerker”, this “ham and egger”.
Let me repeat that to you, YOU LOST TO ME.
Not because I held your tights.
Not because I tossed my feet on the ropes.
No, I decisively, clearly, whomped on you up, down, side to side like the b*tch you are.
So, the question is…what does that say about you, Rich?
[He smiles stretching his arms preparing to get on the mat]
WILLARD: Fact of the matter is, you are at a one and one record with me. And guess what? Your win was ‘cause you cheated.
Isn’t an excuse, it’s a fact. I don’t embellish the truth, Richie, unlike you about your sex life.
But what shock, what awe, you don’t even have a legitimate win against me?
You…you had to cheat to beat me and want to somehow make an argument about it in your favor?
[Adrian is unable to control his laughter and just blurts out cupping his head in his hands and calming down.]
WILLARD: You’re more delusional than the First, doesn’t surprise me.
Here’s something that may though, at Aggression when I beat you AGAIN there won’t be a little rematch.
And the fans can sit there cheering for you as you TRY and make your baby face come back. Only to get a boot right in mouth and be put back in place, begging like the dog you are for me to show some mercy.
Yet no mercy will be given.
Not to the likes of you. Not to the likes of people like you.
People who abuse the system, people who take advantage. People who need to have a coming to Jesus.
There needs to be a reckoning.
A purification.
A person that says this will not stand, this will not continue, and you Rich, you are that sacrificial lamb that I chose to slaughter.
In the end people remember you as just not good enough.
You have never been good enough, maybe that’s where all this stems from. Your little high school insults, your ridiculous personal attacks, your failures at being a human being are all just a façade for a poor and desperate Rich Mahogany.
A Rich Mahogany that shoots from the mouth with no substance.
When we get in that ring at Aggression the jaw jacking ends, Rich. You have to put up or shut up against a man who isn’t going to follow the rules any more.
How will you cope?
How will you feel when the medics scrape you off the canvass like dog sh*t on my shoe?
Only one way to find out right?
It’s been envisioned.
FADE OUT
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You know what I envisioned? Your mother not being a skeezy beast. I was wrong.
[Up.]
“Here’s what I want you to do.”
[RICH MAHOGANY, otherwise known as MR. MORNING AFTER, sits comfortably on a cheap plastic beach chair. A long, thin cigarette hangs limply from his right hand, and a snifter full of turquoise liqueur sits on a small table beside him.]
RICH:
I want you to get a transcript of my last two promotional efforts, and I want you to ctrl+f those motherfuckers for the word “Paladin.” Go ahead, I’ll wait.
[He takes a long, lazy drag off the Virginia Slim, followed by sloshing back half the contents of the snifter. About twelve seconds pass.]
RICH:
All done? Good. Now that you’re sitting there with the words “Zero Results Found” blinking on front of you, I’m gonna need you to grasp out with all of your mental might and try to understand the concepts I’m about to lay down for you.
1.) The Rich-Man doesn’t tend to dwell on past conquests, ask your sister.
2.) Your entire argument, and subsequently everything else that fell out of your mouth, have been rendered useless by your own innate inability to understand the simple concepts floating around you.
3.) You fail and you fail and you God-forsakenly miserably fail time and again at improving your lot in both life and your chosen career path because rather than understanding those simple concepts, you go out of your way to make one tepid excuse after another about how it’s not your fault that you suck out loud, and then you wonder why nobody takes you seriously. Ever.
[He pauses, a cheeky grin twisting across thin lips.]
RICH:
Let me put it to you another way:
If you were a chick, I wouldn’t fuck you. Dig that.
[Another drag.]
RICH:
And it ain’t because I think ya’d make an ugly lady, either, it’s because you keep trying to use five dollar words like “concave” and “void” in places where “cave” and “devoid” would not only fit but flow better and in the end it just makes you sound retarded.
If there’s one thing that anybody could tell you, it’s that Rich Mahogany don’t fuck retarded chicks. Naw’mean? I prefer my ladies to be a bit more silver of the tongue and sharp of the wit, not the type that has to run to the thesaurus every eight sentences to keep from sounding like the inbred Puerto Rican sheep-herder that you so obviously are.
[The Love Machine takes a final drag before flicking the Slim sideways and blowing smoke in the direction of the camera. He knocks back the last of his Hypnotiq with a smile and an “ah” before raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow as if to embolden his point.]
RICH:
And for Christ’s sakes bro, get off of Cammy Cruise’s nuts. His ten second [finger quotes] “World Title reign” holds just about as much water as your ongoing petition that you somehow beat me at Russian Roulette. Sure, you had me in a lateral press or whatever for three seconds, and a referee even slapped the mat three times, but when the final bell rang it was the Vascular Vegan Vaginatarian that held the gold up over his head, that is to say me, not you.
I got the belt. I got the Winner’s Share. I got the girls.
You, as has become your habit, well kiddo, you got the bone.
[Snicker.]
RICH:
Now piss off, wouldja? I got shit to do and rats to screw, bromandude.
[Wink.]
[End.]
[Up.]
“Here’s what I want you to do.”
[RICH MAHOGANY, otherwise known as MR. MORNING AFTER, sits comfortably on a cheap plastic beach chair. A long, thin cigarette hangs limply from his right hand, and a snifter full of turquoise liqueur sits on a small table beside him.]
RICH:
I want you to get a transcript of my last two promotional efforts, and I want you to ctrl+f those motherfuckers for the word “Paladin.” Go ahead, I’ll wait.
[He takes a long, lazy drag off the Virginia Slim, followed by sloshing back half the contents of the snifter. About twelve seconds pass.]
RICH:
All done? Good. Now that you’re sitting there with the words “Zero Results Found” blinking on front of you, I’m gonna need you to grasp out with all of your mental might and try to understand the concepts I’m about to lay down for you.
1.) The Rich-Man doesn’t tend to dwell on past conquests, ask your sister.
2.) Your entire argument, and subsequently everything else that fell out of your mouth, have been rendered useless by your own innate inability to understand the simple concepts floating around you.
3.) You fail and you fail and you God-forsakenly miserably fail time and again at improving your lot in both life and your chosen career path because rather than understanding those simple concepts, you go out of your way to make one tepid excuse after another about how it’s not your fault that you suck out loud, and then you wonder why nobody takes you seriously. Ever.
[He pauses, a cheeky grin twisting across thin lips.]
RICH:
Let me put it to you another way:
If you were a chick, I wouldn’t fuck you. Dig that.
[Another drag.]
RICH:
And it ain’t because I think ya’d make an ugly lady, either, it’s because you keep trying to use five dollar words like “concave” and “void” in places where “cave” and “devoid” would not only fit but flow better and in the end it just makes you sound retarded.
If there’s one thing that anybody could tell you, it’s that Rich Mahogany don’t fuck retarded chicks. Naw’mean? I prefer my ladies to be a bit more silver of the tongue and sharp of the wit, not the type that has to run to the thesaurus every eight sentences to keep from sounding like the inbred Puerto Rican sheep-herder that you so obviously are.
[The Love Machine takes a final drag before flicking the Slim sideways and blowing smoke in the direction of the camera. He knocks back the last of his Hypnotiq with a smile and an “ah” before raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow as if to embolden his point.]
RICH:
And for Christ’s sakes bro, get off of Cammy Cruise’s nuts. His ten second [finger quotes] “World Title reign” holds just about as much water as your ongoing petition that you somehow beat me at Russian Roulette. Sure, you had me in a lateral press or whatever for three seconds, and a referee even slapped the mat three times, but when the final bell rang it was the Vascular Vegan Vaginatarian that held the gold up over his head, that is to say me, not you.
I got the belt. I got the Winner’s Share. I got the girls.
You, as has become your habit, well kiddo, you got the bone.
[Snicker.]
RICH:
Now piss off, wouldja? I got shit to do and rats to screw, bromandude.
[Wink.]
[End.]