You are all worthless cowards

[The Great Eye]

(FADEIN: Doc Silver standing in front of a black curtain with a crudely drawn #OpenPromo logo spray painted in white on it. Doc has on pink and black debut album Garbage T-Shirt and his trademark sweatpants.)

DOC: So the folks running this place cut me a check to insult as many people as possible in the hopes that if I baited the hook I'd get a fish or two to jump into my boat. And I'd just finished Daredevil and Justified just wrapped up it's final season and you better believe I watched all four Game of Thrones episodes as soon as they leaked on-line and well, the check DID clear and it was big enough that I suppose I should give a shit and I got nothing better to do at the moment. So, here we go assholes.

Ya'll are soft, softer than puppy shit. I heard the wailing and whining about SJH winning the crazy wacky Battle Royale Thing-a-ma-bob that was supposed to save our dying industry but instead just piled another bunch of dirt on it. I heard the cries of corruption and laments of the outraged from sea to shining sea in our glorious republic and to all of it lemme say this.

You suck, you're awful and literally none of you should have won the thing, if the ring had fallen into a sinkhole and carried the whole lot of you into the earth's core the world would be far better off. Literally none of you are fit to lick Tom Adler's boots, and rest assured he was the most overrated sack of shit of his time, yet now he'd be a titan compared to all of you.

I'd guess Mike Randalls is roughly sixty years old and yet he bigfoots anyone he feels like smacking around in his beloved Frontier for a simple reason, everyone these days is losers. Talentless hacks grasping at greatness they never could obtain.

Now I know you'll just tell me that I'm old, past my prime by a decade or two, that I wear the T-Shirt of a band that hasn't been culturally relevant since the early 2000's if even then and that I should just shut my mouth and get off the stage.

Question is, where is this supposed stage for the new up and comers of this industry? Defiance? I've heard what they pay, you headline a Defiance show you better have asked your shift manager at Wal-Mart for the next couple days off, don't want to be greeting folks all covered in burn marks and thumb-tacks still sticking to your orbital bone, corporate doesn't care for that.

And of course there's the Frontier. The company that nearly killed Calico Rose and Jack Bryant. You have roughly a thousand times better chance to spend your early 40's applying for full disability from the government and getting it than you do have Eddie Mayfield decide he'd bother promoting you more than he'll hype himself and his boys. Good luck trying to get any forward progress there.

There's a few indies making noise, but there's always a few indies making noise, only now they don't feed into anything major, they just are literally the height of this industry.

So trust fund babies show up with more dollars then sense and have an idea on how to save the industry. and I take there money and sit in front of a camera and call people out because that's the new world order. That's the paradigm we're living in now. So this is how this works.

I'm giving it 48 hours for any loser from the EGF battle royal to show up and tell me why they could kick my ass. Any of the failure pile from that train wreck of an event with the nerve to get in my face wins the right to fight an old prick in his mid 40's. Come on you bunch of jack-asses, come at the old man and prove that you got what it takes to put him down.

If that band of suck-ass failures can't find the nerve to tell me off then after that 48 hours this becomes a true open challenge to the whole damn world. Any idiot with a pair of wrestling boots and guts to get in the ring with me gets to take a shot.

Line forms to the left, come on down.

(FADEOUT)

 

[The Second Coming]

I'm embarrassed.

The nature of this sport is that the newcomers constantly attempt to upstage and overshadow the veterans. It's just life: whether you're a middling face in the crowd or a legendary Champion, time will inevitably take your athletic ability before you're prepared to let it go. The intelligent use this decline to get the next generation ready to take over the spotlight while cashing in with as many high profile, high paying appearances as possible.

Some of the old timers hold onto their power for far too long, to the detriment of the sport and the business of professional wrestling itself. It's not always selfish, however - you've worked to earn your spot in the industry and shouldn't have to give it up until someone else can forcibly take it from you.

Dr. Silver, you're a household name in my house, usually referred to as a sneaky, underhanded little bastard who will lie, cheat, steal, or kill to keep his name in spotlights. I don't know if I totally subscribe to that theory, though. I think if some young whippersnapper walked up to you and said 'Doctor, I'm taking your spot by any means necessary, and there's nothing you can do about it,' and then they went out and did it, you'd at least respect them for it.

Your frustration does make sense, though. Where does a curmudgeonly old man go to express his disapproval about the youth of today? Defiance? Collection of too - hip - for - the - room losers who don't give the time of day to anyone who walks against their herd mentality. New Frontier Wrestling? You could probably succeed there, judging by the criteria that you were a big name last century. Are you a distantly related DeVille? What about a Windham?

...

Never mind.

The real tragedy of all of this, is that this should be a no-brainer. You're a fifty year old man whose athletic skills are probably hanging on with duct tape and dubious promises, but whose name still means something. Any up - and - coming athlete in this sport should be jumping at the opportunity to knock ol' Dr. Silver down one last time.

And yet, here we are.

You'll forgive my first - to - arrive mentality, I hope. I had nothing to do with Battlemania, and it hasn't been forty eight hours since you put up your challenge, but I don't want to take the chance on you breaking a hip.

I just hope you're not one of those faux-honorable 'I won't wrestle a woman' types. But let's be serious: since when have you had *any* honor?

Thanks!

-MJF
The Second Coming

 

[Evan H.]

A coward am I

[Cut to a short broad chested man with his thumbs hooked in the vest of a navy blue pinstripe suit. His head, obviously usually sheared balled has the look of a few days growth. His handlebar mustache twitches slightly as his eyes look up and meet the camera. Behind him a dark red vinyl banner. The lights are bright and overhead.]

‘Ello… [mocking grin] lads.

[His accolades, his accomplishments. Not a part of this conversation. All you need know is his name is the “Bombastic” Bronson Box and he’s known around the world as the Original DEFIANT. For good reason.]

Boxer:
You know we’re coming up on six years since I signed with DEFIANCE. You can all make your snide remarks and scoff at this company’s less than sterling reputation but all you have to do is cock an ear and stop running your mouths for a mere moment to hear the faithful stomping their feet, rattling guardrails and gnashing their bloody teeth for more. An arse every eighteen inches, isn’t that the true barometer of success?

[The barrel chested Scotsman rubs an open palm down the length of his face with a sigh. Paying special attention to his facial adornment.]

Boxer:
But you lot don’t give two donkeys dicks about any of that, do you?

[He pauses long enough that you start to feel his eyes looking right at you.]

Boxer:
No. You’ve made up your minds, haven’t you? Because you’re both so unique. You’re both so special. A fifty year old man who apparently doesn't know what Hulu is who’s best years are so far behind him they're nothing but distant memories of fans too old and too tired to care. And oh, the mysterious indie trollop hiding behind her own skirts, the second coming of what, dear? Even the best in Chicago is still in a class below me, lass. That’s a confirmable fact.

If’n you had the bollocks.


[He starts popping his knuckles.]

Boxer:
If we’re so small, if we’re so backwater why am I the first able bodied MAN to step up and grab hold of this unique little platform and speak my piece? Answer me that, you lot. You all do do so much bloody talkin’... too much by my estimation. Between the retired quinquagenarian and the indie harlot I’d say I’m the one with the surest footing to be doing ANY real… [tilting his head] talkin’.

[The Scottish Strongman re-hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his vest, popping his thick veiny neck with a quick snap of his head.]

Boxer:
So go on, tell me again how we’re small time, tell me again how we’re all too - hip - for - the - room losers who don't give a yada yada, on and on and bloody on until we all turn to dust listenin’ to you two small timers figure out what makes DEFIANCE so... special.

[He licks his lips and chuckles cooly under his breath.]

Boxer:
So tell me again, lass. To my face. Tell me, old man.

[Dead eyed serious. The right half of his mustache twitches as his lip curls slightly.]


Boxer:
Tell me.

[Black.]

 

[Ulfric]

Re: A coward am I

[Fuck location, you don’t need one so you don’t get one. You get rain and a brick wall and some eves wide enough to keep the guy leaning underneath ‘em dry. He’s smokin’ a cigarette, got it dangling from his lips as he shoves a phone into his back pocket. Modern technology means bullshit can reach you anywhere these days.

You ain’t gotta know who he is, either, seein’ as how he’s got the collar on his faded jacket turned up and a cowboy hat pulled low. What you do gotta notice is that black t-shirt with that glaring DEFIANCE logo he’s proudly showing off, ‘cause seriously, that’s the only shit that counts.

That…and what he’s got to say. ]

All yer years ‘n the business ‘n that’s the best you got, Doc? Callin’ people soft and tellin’ ‘em they suck? Sounds more like a third grader with a cardboard microphone and tin-foil belt, mugging for his parents video camera while tryin’ ta imitate the heroes he worships every Friday night.

That why you called us out, Doc? A little hero worship gone wrong? You been talkin’ in the mirror so long you get delusions of grandeur ‘n decide to play pretend?

Sorry, I don’t play well with others and the games I do play, well let’s just say there ain’t no tea parties and baby dolls in your future. I destroy things, period. It’s what I do.

Don’t need no burning thumbtacks ta make a flamin’ sack a garbage outta you, yer doin’ a pretty good job a that on yer own. What I’m here ta do, is take all those grand illusions of yers and rip ‘em to the ground. Reveal you to the world for the shriveled up old fool you are, still tiltin’ at windmills ‘n tryin ta pretend yer a god.

The gods are dead, Doc and all that’s left here are the monsters and the new creatures, and each and everyone one of us has a taste for your blood…

But don’t think that means we won’t have enough for you…Second Coming. How predictable. Do me a favor and spit out Doc’s shriveled tit, sit up a little bit and listen, let that curdled haze of feigned indignity drift clear for a minute. That’s all its gonan take to enlighten you.

Power isn’t given away. It’s earned and it’s taken. It’s held in iron fists not because of selfishness but because the young pups comin’ up the ladder aren’t badass enough to take it away.

You ain’t badass enough ta take it away.

So yer doin’ what yer kind always does.

Sittin’ at the bottom ‘n sulkin. Whinin’ ,cryin’, bitchin’, moanin’, cussin’, ta everyone who’ll listen about the evil guys in the ivory tower who won’t let ya crash that shinny gate. What you gotta do is pull yerself up by the bootstraps, look long ‘n hard in the mirror, see where ya failed ‘n fix it.

But you won’t.

That would be too much like taking accountability. That would be too much like admitting that ya were wrong and ya weren’t ready.

That would mean effort that yer too lazy to put in, ‘cause instead of grabbing those weights yer standin’ on a corner with yer hands outstretched, prayin like hell someone ‘’ill drop somethin’ in.

Nothing of value was ever given to anyone, ‘cause to have value, you gotta put in the blood, the time, the miles, the failures, ‘n the regrets. You gotta build that equity before you build that brand.

And right now 'bout the only thing you’ve earned is a spanking.