As the cameras began to roll, vivid high-definition picture and sound flooded the screen with colour, music and the haziness that could only be collectively describing the stereotypical bar room scene. Juke box music blared against the four walls of the bar as scantily clad women pranced around with barley drinks on their trays which foamed to the rim; ready to ply the already intoxicated gentleman with even more of the worlds favourite poison.
Sitting by himself, in the corner, was the King of the Mountain himself.
Dressed in a pair of casual jeans and his trademark black hooded sweatshirt he had been by himself for most of the evening, apart from the occasional wrestling fan. The majority of whom left him alone as he sat peering into the centre of his table were only a singular drink was it's inhabitant.
He picked up the glass with his right paw and swirled the malted spirit around the tumbler, watching as it played with the glass on each side.
"Hope you don't mind if I call you Edward? I don't really care what you think anyway as once again I need to make the first move."
Keller looked in a reflective and sombre mood, for once in his life, even if his last comment was laced with sarcasm.
"Finally someone capable of a verbal joist before our inevitable physical one. You see the last guy I faced, KC Colossus Jr, I think he was a mute because he didn't have anything to say about our Ultratitle match at all after my little radio appearance. Then again he did scream like a little prom queen ***** when I yanked him in the air and sent him into the mat like a f*cking dart."
A small smile graced the usually stone cold Khristain Keller, remembering his first round victory with aplomb.
"Now I see all the dirt sheets and the internet forums are saying that I might have come up against my match and my Ultratitle bid is over before it even began. Why is that exactly? Your sheer ignorance means I'm not one of your 'guys'? It's a funny... because so far the 'guys' I hang around with have been kicking ass all over the Ultratitle."
Slamming down the glass seemed to put the exclamation on the point he was trying to convey.
"I'm a relative nobody in this competition because I haven't went out my way to prove to these hacks just who the hell I am, and now they think because I'm up against someone who can swing a fist I'm out on my ass, why? Because of this?"
K2 lifted the class of Scotch to the camera and then brought it to his lips.
He didn't drink it though. No, no, no.
Instead he drew back his throat and collected all the phlegm and mucus he could, the sound of which made the women on his right hand side heave, before she watched him deposit the slimy substance straight into the glass.
"That right there is what I think of Whisky..."
Tossing it over his head the whole bar room hushed as the glass was destroyed upon meeting the concrete tiled floor, discarding the now foamy contents and shattering all over the vicinity.
"It's a f*cking horrendous substance, and you know what else? American Whisky is by far the worst on the planet Edward. Quite ironic isn't it? It's like slugging down a glass of acid and additionally it runs straight through me and gives me the ****s, just like your first round match did Edward. It stunk up the entire joint."
The King **** of **** Mountain was now on his feet.
"The first thing I did after beating Colossus was that I googled your ass Whisky and some of the stuff you come away with deserves to be up on some moronic board of idiots. My personal favourite was, and I quote;
'One of my main strengths is that I always slap away dropkicks.'
That my friend, is QUITE possibly the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life."
But he wasn't laughing.
"But this isn't comedy hour Edward, and all I ask of you now is try slapping away a dropkick to the nuts you dumb inbred twat!"
Anger was now on the agenda.
"Round two of the Ultratitle will become famous for one match... one moment in it's history when the world finally sat up and took notice of the Bastard King of Ages, because when that bell rings and I go toe to toe with your ape of a melon, there is only going to be one man with his arm raised at the end, and you are looking right at him."
Khristain dropped a $10 bill on the table, obviously paying for his drink before making his final statement.
"People say Jesus turned water into wine on one fabled day. Put the call out and tell the world that I will be replicating that mircale with one large alteration; I'm going to turn Whisky into blood."
Making your way in the world today takes everything you've got. Keeping that in mind, taking a break from all of your worries can certainly help a great deal. For wouldn't you like to get away? Some times you just want to go where everybody knows your name. Eddie Whisky isn't one of these people, as he tends to get squirrely when people come up and talk to him. Instead, Eddie is in a place you might call "an undisclosed location."
A single naked lightbulb dangles from the ceiling. Cracked and water-stained cement walls and metal folding chair add to the ambiance. A hand-drawn mock-up of the Ultratitle brackets is taped to one wall. Eddie is studying it intently and intensely.
Eddie Whisky: it's all too easy. Chris Walker was supposed to be a challenge. he was suppose to give Eddie Whisky - who is myself - a run for his money. But no...
Eddie has a red sharpie in his hand. He crosses out the name "Chris Walker" with a broad 'x'. Because it has to be noted, Eddie is now sporting one of those bearskin helmets that Buckingham Palace guards wear. Thankfully, he also is wearing pants.
EW: Hmm... Kristain Keller. He's illiterate, has a chest infection, and doesn't like drinking glasses apparently. It just doesn't add up.
Eddie pauses and waits for his train of thought to pull in. This takes some time.
EW: What the hell was I talking about? You know what, all this conspiracy-within-a-conspiracy stuff is getting on my nerves. To hell with it.
With that proclamation, Eddie rips the bracket off of the wall, stomps on it, then flicks a Zippo and tosses it on the paper.
EW: You thought I would get distracted, didn't you, Kristain Keller? Well forget it! I don't believe for one minute you're as stupid as you pretend to be!
Eddie begins to foam at the mouth a bit. His flaring nostrils have a bit of a snot bubble forming.
EW: You think I can be fooled just by getting my name wrong and misspelling your own? I see right through it! We both know you should spell your name with a 'C' and the 'tain' is backwards! Otherwise you'd have some dumb made-up name, and that would be dumb!
Eddie begins to pace back and forth. Due to his substantial height, he keep knocking his helmet against the lightbulb, which begins to sway back and forth. The lighting effect is a bit bewildering.
EW: And we know very well that if you were a Christian like you claim to be, performing transubstantiation with me, you would also turn the other cheek so I can kick you in both of them. So the jig is up, "Kristain Keller", I am onto you. You hoped to lower my guard and make me look like an idiot, but I beat you to it!
The pacing stops, but the frothing spittle continues. The look in his eye is often associated with madness, or at least a mild concussion. Meanwhile, the burning brackets are starting to fizzle out.
EW: Now getting on with my name; everyone over the age of five who has ever watched wrestling knows very well that my real name is John Edgar Whitowsky. So why you keep insisting on calling me Edward is beyond me. Perhaps you want me to pretend I'm Edward Cullen? You want me to wear sparkly make-up, give you piggyback rides and call you my own personal brand of heroin? I don't think so, Kristain! Of course... I have an open mind...
Eddie shakes his head, as though to dislodge the thought.
EW: Nosiree Kellen! The last time I accepted a proposition from some guy spitting into drinks at a bar, I ended up in a Tijuana donkey show! Once bitten twice shy!
Eddie rubs the bridge of his nose, murmuring a mantra to himself.
EW: Eyes on the prize Eddie. Eyes on the prize. There's be time for that after you win Ultratitle. Eyes on the prize. Eyes on the prize.
Another shake of the head, spittle shooting off like a really disgusting lawn sprinkler, and Eddie begins pacing again.
EW: Or maybe I'm giving you too much credit, Kellen. Hanlon's Razor states: Never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by stupidity. Maybe you just really are stupid to try flirting with me. Maybe you aren't trying to take my mind off the final goal. Well either way Kristain Keller; I CAN DO A LOT BETTER THAN YOU!
The smoke from the fire has set off a sprinkler system, which subsequently shorts out the uncovered lightbulb. For all intents and purposes, we fade to black...
WARNING: THE FOLLOWING YOUTUBE VIDEO CONTAINS EXPLICIT LANGUAGE AS WELL AS OBSCENE HAND MOTIONS AND POSSIBLE MALE NUDITY.
The clip began to roll in a dimly lit room, the screen engulfed by the upper body and face of one scary looking individual; THE King S*it of F*ck Mountain.
Keller, it seemed, had purposely left himself in a blacked out room preparing his mind for another big match in the ULTRATITLE, but now he was the time that he had to speak up. K2 could only keep his gob shut for a few days at the most… and it tormented him to even stretch it out that long.
Two things immediately struck any human being whom had watched the YouTube clip.
The first? That Keller was gulping down post workout protein shakes like there was no tomorrow, no doubt in preparation of his upcoming match with Eddie Whisky. He was ravenous in his quest for protein as he slurped down bottle after bottle.
The second thing, and perhaps the most worrying; he had no top on, which begged the question about how much clothing he actually DID have on as he sat in his Florida home, in the dark, in the middle of the day.
"Looks like I'll need settle for this until I can have a celebratory whiskey huh Edward?"
K2 smiled as he knocked down the remaining drops of the pink viscous liquid which would hopefully give him a competitive edge in their upcoming match.
"First things first, I want to congratulate you on having the gonads to actually come out and say something about me. Not many men have the fortitude to do so but Eddie, if I don’t know you better… I would say it was stupidity rather than stones because if for one minute you underestimate my intelligence again, that will be the end of you in this competition."
Swishing his neck from side to side, Keller looked ready to unleash a verbal onslaught.
"In my last little broadcast I mentioned a feat of biblical proportions, which I’m still to perform I know, but let me amaze the world right here, right now by showing off a medical phenomenon to you all. You see some people have photographic memories and while I don't have that gift Edward…"
Keller cracked all of his knuckles, as if trying to draw out the suspense.
"I do have is a bull****-ographic memory! So as you can imagine, I remember your entire promo in that dingy little room you were in, probably your living room?"
"In no less than a week, we go toe to toe in the squared circle and right now, I know everything there is to know about you... more or less because I could write it all on the back of a food stamp my boy, but that is neither here nor there.
The main thing I know about you? Edward you are a nobody. You aren’t feared and you aren’t talked about… some may say that it is a good thing, underdogs and all that. I piss all over underdogs Edward because they are below me.
Yet you sit there in front of your ULTRATITLE bracket, planning your way to the final match and I bet you couldn't even tell me what my tactics are going to be? Neither could you tell me what methods I would take to make sure your broken face is the only memento you will take from this competition.”
Opening another protein shake, he took his next verbal swing.
"No, instead you want to talk about the spelling of my ring name. For the hard of hearing, I'll repeat that, THE SPELLING OF MY RING NAME!
Jesus H boy, you're about to step into a ring with a man who has crippled younglings and has been revered around the world for being a f*cking maniac in battle and that is what you want to come back to me with? So, Edward, seeing as you are no doubt a 'special' human being, I thought I would get you a gift to enjoy once you are out of the ULTRATITLE."
Keller dove into his back pocket, momentarily standing up and showing that he was in the best physical shape he had been for a long time.
"It's an entry ticket for another highly acclaimed tournament that starts next Saturday, I thought you might enjoy it... the National Spelling Bee 2012."
Tossing the ticket towards the camera, Keller smirked.
"That's VIP as well mother****er, no expense spared."
Sitting back down, he clasped his hands behind his head and chatted away to his laptop monitor.
"You want to talk about names? OK fine. My real name is Kyle Keller, but if you did your homework you would know that the name had been taken by some idiot in Canada. So what did I do? I picked another name. It's pretty simple stuff Edward, here was me thinking at least you would be able to understand the simple stuff but it looks like I was wrong all along, have I over estimated you?
If you want to get into this, tell me who the hell has the name John Edgar Whitowsky? Tell me. So I can go out there and given that guy a pat on the back and a dollar for being the bravest wrestler on the planet... that dollar will be a hundred percent more than he has ever made in this industry I could bet."
Shake number two? Done.
"I call you Edward because I want to. Do you want me to call you Edward Cullen? You want to be the same as a vampire who doesn't eat people and sparkles in the woods? So basically you want to be Tinkerbell? It's the exact same thing isn't it? Whisky the Fighting Fairy. Certainly is better than Whitowsky."
Some might laugh after delivering **** hot comedy, once again Keller wasn’t laughing.
“You stand there with your jokes and your humour trying to evade the issue, the issue being that come the time that bell rings for the second time and my arm is raised, the issue of names will be completely gone from the conversation Edward, as you won’t even be able to remember yours.
I’m here to make a statement.
I’m here to show the god-damn world that I’m not a one hit wonder in that flea bag federation ACW.
I’m here… to make you use that final ticket home, hand in your performers badge and say ‘goodnight ULTRATITLE’.
I’m here to take punks like you, crush their nose with my fists and pin them for three seconds until I come up against someone who might actually give me a challenge.
I’m here to win.”
The Bastard King of Ages was out of shakes, and out of time.
“This is the last you will hear from me until I’m standing in front of you Edward. You want to talk about conspiracy within conspiracy, the Keller conspiracy is about to kick your teeth down your throat... I'll send you a bottle of Jack to tend your bleeding gums."
Being a member of the Seattle-based IWF, it is just a short jaunt to the westermost coast of Washington State. At this geographical point of Who-The-Hell-Cares lies a little pilgrimage point for tween girls and misguided 30-something housewives. Forks, Washington, the real-life town where the fictional Twilight series is based. The coast rainforest is apparently the rainiest point in the continental United States. In this forest of rain, we see the... interesting character known as Eddie Whisky. Mr. Whisky is once again stripped down to his boots and boxers and still wears his Buckingham Palace Guard bear-fur hat. By the looks of it, he has donned the sparkly body paint he threatened when last we met him.
Eddie Whisky: You don't know who you are up against Kellar. I am the perfect predator!
Sparkly Eddie rushes the camera for an Extreme Close Up.
EW: As if you could out-run me!
Eddie run up to a small dead sapling and licks it over with his ever-trusty Whisky Kick.
EW: As if you can fight me off!
Eddie gestures in a way that says "look at my sparkly chest."
EW: This is the skin of a killer, Kellar! everything about me draws you in! My looks, voice, even my smell!
The rain in the forest is a steady misty mist. That is steady. It has the double effect of sluicing the glitter down Eddie's body and making his big hat very soggy. Sadly, his boxers are white cotton. You are all very welcome for the mental image.
EW: I am aware of how deadly I am, Kristain. In the first round I walked all over Chris Walker. Literally! But I see you too got a nerf. KC Collossus? So what, he was the biggest man in Kansas City? Wow, quite the achievement. Like being the smartest man in Boston or the sexiest man in Toronto. Not really a thing to brag about. What was I talking about?
Eddie looks at his chest and sees the glitter all washed off, save some matted in his chest hair. A light slowly sparks in his eye.
EW: Right! I see you keep trying to backpedal from the indecent cosplay proposal you gave me when last we spoke. I applaud you attempt to play mind games with me, but your first mistake was to think my mind is to be played with! Eddie nods, as though he is making some sort of sense.
EW: Yes, 'Double K', I caught on to you right quickly, and thwarted your plans. The way to beat Eddie Whisky is not through a fumbled attempt to seduce me! Not to say the idea wasn't tempting...
Eddie pauses again, then shakes his head vigorously. Between his bushy 'stache and furry helm, it makes for a very drippy sight, given all the moisture.
EW: Eyes on the prize Eddie. Eyes on the prize... No, Kristain Kellar, I am not some starry-eye twelve year-old who is dazzled by you exotic English accent and firm, honed body! I am Eddie Whisky! The Man O' War! I crawl through sixteen miles of barbed-wire with cobra-snake for a necktie! Your kinky offers, talking dirty and attempts to bribe me with spelling bee tickets will not distract me!
Eddie kicks over another rotted tree. Not a great effort, true, but it makes a very satisfying cracking noise when the boot impacts.
EW: I WILL NOT LET YOU PLAY GAMES WITH MY HEART!
For good measure, Eddie picks up the remnants of the dead tree and tosses them.
EW: Do you know how many times in my life I have been taken for a fool? Neither do I, but this time is not one of them! I see right through you and your little kinky games, Kristain Kellar. You may not piss on me! You may not Call me Edward! And you will not be putting anything in my throat!
Eddie rushes to another ECU, spittle now mingling with the rain water the dampens his face. he speaks a barely-audible whisper.
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