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Post by Admin on Nov 11, 2019 0:50:30 GMT -6
  MHW Ultimate Championship
60 Minute Iron Man Match
Skrabz© vs Tyke IndexRoleplay Limit: TWORoleplay Deadline: Sunday, November 24, 2019 @ 1AM Central *First roleplay MUST be posted by Wednesday, November 20, 2019 @ 1AM Central to be eligible to post a second roleplay |
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Post by Deleted on Nov 14, 2019 9:47:13 GMT -6
Monday June 18th, 2018
HcW Bitter Enemies PPV
Around 10pm
Phillips Arena, Atlanta, Georgia
I watched as it happened, Taurus, a man I had idolized crash through three tables. He was in my hands a few minutes ago, we both were and we both flied so high. As we landed through enough upholstery to stock a furniture shop, among the wreckage were two bodies, I turned round and glanced at Taurus, for all intents and purposes the last true flag bearer of my idols.
We had a count of ten to reach out feet, to reach the stars, to reach our dreams. For me, though, it was more than a race to, excuse the pun, the Summit. See, for ten years in HcW my career had been defined by Taurus, the five time world champion, the man with the Bullseye, the man who created a legacy and planted the seeds for guys like me to succeed they told me.
No matter what I done, how many times I won the world championship, a championship, a match, I went a walk, took some lines – Taurus had always done more, he was always slightly ahead, perjured in the distance like some sort of sick ghost that no matter how desperate I was to attain the same status as him, I never quite could. Even now, as I gasped into the ring and looked down at the wreckage, I was about to win the biggest match of my career but all eyes were on Taurus as his limp body raised one last salute through the sifts of a raised middle finger, a middle finger that had fucked with my entire career and at times even threatened to tarnish my legacy, the kingdom of Coke, Tyke Index.
I would grab my world championship and head to the back, my old advisor Harvey Goodfellows had prepared a celebration, there were broads, bitches and lines. Lots of them, tonnes of them, enough to make me almost forget that my entire achievement had been overlooked and overlooked again. I glanced at Harvey, Harvey glanced back at me, we glanced at each other before glancing at the backstage monitor.
Harvey muttered something in my ear, Taurus career was over, Bullseye was done, complete. Word was filtering through the Phillips Arena and the dirt sheets around the world that the middle finger raised from the rubble would be his last, my last sighting of that piece of shit forever trying to tie a noose around the neck of my career verbatim. Farewell, fucker, I dived into some lines and I sniffed that shit till the lights in the room dimmed and I felt like I was in my living room watching some NYPD Blue.
Just there, at that moment, I heard Harvey whisper something in the ear of HcW commentator Alan Carcia
“Are you sure Skrabal Stanzas has solely exclusive to Mile High and not arriving here in HcW? Positively sure?”
Harvey looked pleased, delighted, and ecstatic and I couldn’t understand why. Who was this guy with a name that rhymed off like a nursery book, so through hazily dilated pupils I plundered into my google machine:
“Skrabal Stanzas”
What would come was a guy who looked rough around the edges, probably had a similar backstory to me; most likely had some vices, drug addictions and a love for all things sensual when he wasn’t kicking the living shit out of another human being. Glaringly, though, it was the articles popping up underneath, one particular though, stared through at me with daunting eyes.
For the second year running I had been robbed, it was one thing losing out last year to Taurus, a fifteen year veteran at the game but to lose to a novice, a guy who looked like a drug dealer down the local scheme. I could see glitters of dust drip from my nose onto the article I was reading from the depths of my smart phone, I hollered over to Harvey Goodfellows, I needed his assistance here, there was a few things we needed to go over. Who, what, where, when and why? Why now was this guy trying to fuck with my legacy? After everything I had achieved tonight, this little dip shit Skrabz was wanting to steal my sunshine, rock the boat and leave with everything, that little fucking dick.
I shut my eyes and let the hit do its thing, soon this anger would subside, soon I would facing the ceiling dreaming of sheep, I wanted this to be over, I didn’t want to be upset anymore and why would I? I had worked my entire career, beaten everyone this industry had to offer, taken when I had no right to take, forced my own luck and why?
To sit behind some guy with a terrible name in the biggest wrestling listings of the year, I was irate.
Wednesday July 11th
MHW Rise In Phoenix PPV
Talking Stick Arena, Phoenix Arizona
Around 8pm
I had spent the past month behind closed doors in secret talks with Robert Mack about potentially jumping ship to Mile High, I had grown frustrated at my direction in HcW, airing my grievances on the infamous pipebomb just a month or so earlier had merely emptied my lungs for the time being, still angry, still refusing to be overlooked and somehow here I was in Phoenix standing next to one of the guys who had overlooked me the entirety of 2018, ‘Yours Truly’ Lance Mikes.
Tonight we would win our match, our first unsanctioned Mile High barb, but that wasn’t the story here, not tonight and as I would soon learn very quickly, Tyke Index would not be the story in Mile High for a very long time, certainly not on the watch of those who were out to get me, those constantly trying to ensure that the machine evolved without me sitting pretty at number one like I had always deserved.
Tonight, the story was about the guy I seen arrive five minutes ago, he had bigger muscles than what I had seen on television but without the tinted fade of camera mastery I could see darker shadows and wrinkles around his eyes, signs of weakness, but nothing that would stop this vulture seeping in and taking every chance thrown his way time and time again. This, my friends, was the first time Skrabal Stanzas and I would share the same city, the same building, breath the same air and by god was that air horsed in something deeper than the oxygen present in Phoenix, Arizona.
We had a casual glance at each other, I shuffled my HcW World Championship over my shoulder in some sort of power stance, I had to make my presence known even if I knew that tonight and many other nights over the next few months we would rarely skirmish each other shoes, it was important, though, important to me that this little dickhead knew who the fuck I was and why I was here. I was here for Skrabz, truth be told he was the only reason I was here.
MHW Rise In Phoenix PPV
10.12pm
Talking Stick Arena,
Phoenix, Arizona
Ray Hudson was screaming, Robert fuckin’ Mack was screaming, the entire crowd in Arizona had come unstuck as Bratton slapped the mat hard at the visceral effects of a second Mic Check and as Skrabz crawled his puny, grubby little paws over her to begin what would become his era in Mile High Wrestling, just then I knew, this task was going to be bigger than I ever wanted or needed it to be, but that’s fine.
Harvey noticed I was glued to my monitor backstage, slapping my shoulder hard trying to distance my stare from the 40 inch plasma rasped in front of me.
“Champ, champ, you don’t need Skrabz, he needs you. You’re the champ.”
I tried to believe it, I wanted to believe it, I should probably have believed it but something inside of me, something so fucking strong in there just wasn’t having it. Ratings in HCW had been on the decline for months while I was champion, meanwhile in Mile High things were soaring, Skrabz was soaring, suddenly it felt like the championship on my shoulder represented the past and the ten pounds of gold on that little shit in the ring represented the present and future, I would need to make Skrabz my future and make him my future quick, before it was too late, before I was overlooked again and trust me…
Sunday October 13th 2019
Talking Stick Arena,
Phoenix, Arizona
Mile High Throw Down Episode 24
7pm
 I couldn’t believe it, two years in a row trailing an absolute virtuous man of no morals. Dave was also adding insult to injury with his wording and what it implicated on the career of Tyke Index; I couldn’t and wouldn’t stand for this anymore. I picked up my cellular and flicked through the lobby of names in my phone book, I could trust maybe around half a dozen out of the four hundred or so people I had in here.
Then I looked down on the lobby desk backstage, there lay a small piece of card which would change my trajectory forever, three little letters and a couple of dashes:
AMV IV
As I picked up the card and started to dial my lord and saviour, my future lawyer and principle of safekeeping. AMV IV was a smart man, he had lots of things to say about lots of different issues, some trivial and some more serious. I had watched closely how this man had invented and nurtured a monster in the vein of the New Nightmare, Reaper. I wanted in on the fun, I needed to know my future was in safe hands, see in the space of a year I had went from being worried about climbing the ladder to slipping down it. Too many coincidental happenings had lead me to believe that something had to change, with the Shieldmaidens and Coven engulfed in gang warfare while Skrabz was still holding the Ace and noose around my career.
I knew, AMV IV knew and Mile High Wrestling were about to learn a new way of thinking. As we hoisted ourselves to the Summit and prepared to press the red huge button which would not only set off the most destructive force in professional wrestling but compel a revisionist way of life. See, from tonight people would no longer be talking about the Shieldmaidens, they would no longer be talking about the Coven, fuck, in a mere hour or two Skrabz would even be an afterthought on the lips of critics such as our darling dear Alka Seltzer.
Later in the night I would secure my return bout with Skrabz but that was of little importance right now, it was the words that AMV IV was saying to me, it was detonating a bomb inside my head and suddenly I realized that nothing could or would ever be the same again. AMV would ask me how I prepared for my previous match with Skrabz, the one; that only now was I beginning to come to terms with that I had actually lost.
I told AMV IV fighting back tears in my eyes and with the devil and god raging inside of me that I wanted Skrabz and I to be friends, I felt that if Skrabz and I had formed an alliance then we would have been unstoppable, that being number one in the PWI half year lists would have been an eventual formality, I genuinely believed that going into the winner take all match with Skrabz that if I became his friend, exposed he had feelings for human beings and a bit of empathy that his weakness would have been hung out to dry and exposed for the fraud that deep down I always believed he was.
AMV IV with a dry rasp in his tone asked how that worked out for me and that was the problem; it didn’t work out for me. Maybe it was all the alcohol, maybe it was all the drugs, maybe it was everything adding up wrong in my head, hell, maybe, well maybe I was the problem in this all along. I started to cry, sobbing as hard as I could until AMV IV took my head in his arms and gave me a hug, a hug I long since needed.
AMV IV informed me that man like Skrabz had no heart, man like Skrabz fought for no cause and that because they believed in nothing they were capable of anything. One of the many things Skrabz was capable of was hurting my feelings, making me feel even lower than when I was trapped six foot under celebrating my own potential death. AMV IV told me how that I would win my war with Zombie, my war with the Lost Child and my war with Miss Myrrder but that much like when I debuted at Rise In Phoenix, coincidentally in the very same arena over a year ago, the story wasn’t about me, well it was, but it was about my journey and no longer about a nights work.
I stopped looking down at the floor and started to look up; as it turns out I would keep looking up as standing there was the 7 foot monster Reaper. With laughter lines upon his cheeks AMV IV told me to forget any alliance with Skrabz as tonight, tonight something BIGGER was on the horizon and something way more fearful than anything a guy who smoked 40 cigarettes a day could provoke or invoke within another person and their human emotion, tonight we were going to scare the absolute shit out of Mile High Wrestling.
I stood up next to Reaper and tapped his mask a few times, there was no reaction; literally I had found the only person on the planet with less emotion than Skrabz. I wanted to cry, cry fast and cry hard, but this time cry with tears of joy, my fucking god, I had finally found the solution to Skrabz and it was something as simple as enlisting a well-dressed Fourth Generation lawyer and a fuckin’ monster, Reaper was my monster, THE monster, but together we were going to take what was ours, at Black Magic I was going to take the Mile High Ultimate Championship and Reaper? Reaper was going to take what was left.
14th November, 2019
Sonder – Moss, Bauer Hotel Suite
New Orleans, Louisiana
3.26pm
 I was pointing to the picture and AMV IV was laughing, I didn’t know what was funny, but he could tell I was angry, though, I suppose after he had witnessed a Reaper hissy fit, anything I would throw was always going to be pretty trivial.
This right here was the problem, though, I was pointing to the positioning of those on the cover. Skrabz dead set, always the centre, always at the heart of everyone’s attention span and oh look to the right, its Mr. Number Two, Tyke Index.
I was so fucking sick and tired of being number two, to make matters worse, they photo shop a picture of me laughing on to the cover, oh yeah, ha ha, very funny, let’s all laugh as Tyke Index loses his mental health and Phoenix Championship on the same night. I was going on a super straight tangent by this point, I was losing track of what was coming out my mouth other than sheer contempt and venom, AMV IV would interject.
Eloquently and elaborately AMV IV would tell me that everything in this picture was everything I had to steer clear of, that if anything this was a picture where lessons should be learned and not frowned upon. AMV IV asked what I normally do to clear some steam and I would confide in my super geeky hobby of running, I had to reiterate time and time again like some sort of paranoid mess that I wasn’t running away from anything or anyone but merely I was just trying to build some cardio up.
AMV IV laughed, he was always fucking laughing as he would put together the jigsaw of my fragile state but his answers and advice were always golden and this case more than apt, reminding me that my match at Black Magic was an Iron Man match, something that was in my vein, THE vein, much like all those silly fucking drugs I wish I had avoided sometimes.
AMV IV seemed as equally amused by my attempts to run an hour at a time as bemused by our Ultimate Champions attempts to smoke fifty cigarettes a day.
“You’ve got him, you’ve really got him”.
I do?
I glanced up and laughed, feeling finally in on the joke, the joke at Skrabz expense and for once…
Not mines…
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Post by Skrabz on Nov 19, 2019 15:58:32 GMT -6
Location: Raising Cane's River Center, Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Date: November 10th 2019
The last image shown on the Stanton Network as Mile High Wrestling’s twenty sixth episode of ThrowDown went off the air was of a defiant, and bloodied, Skrabal Stanzas hoisting his Mile High Wrestling Ultimate Championship in the air as he stood beside his unlikely saviour, Anaquin Adams.
After the stream ended Skrabal left the ring and made his way to the back, leaving the ring to Anaquin, but without ever looking back in her direction. The fans in attendance were left to wonder and postulate on their social media app of choice about just how Skrabz felt with regards to Anaquin intervening in the horrific assault carried out on him by Tyke Index just minutes earlier. As he made his way down the aisle towards the curtain Skrabal noticed mothers in the front row lovingly shielding the eyes of their young children while looking at him aghast, while at the same time teenagers were arching their backs over the guardrail, risking injury just for a selfie with the reigning Mile High Wrestling Ultimate Champion.
As Skrabal made his way through the curtain a female stagehand looked in his direction and inhaled sharply in shock and as he continued walking back to his locker room he noticed the colour drain from the faces of almost everyone who looked at him. As he rounded a corner he walked straight into Jessical McDaniel who was walking in the opposite direction. Skrabal reacted instantly, reaching out and wrapping an arm around Jessica's lower back, preventing her from stumbling after he knocked her off balance. Not being Skrabals biggest fan Jessica quickly shrugged him off, keen for any physical contact between the two of them to be kept to a minimum and as she looked him the eyes her scowl faded and her eyes widened as she gasped “Oh my god.” Her voice carried an uncharacteristic tone of concern, considering her total disdain for Skrabal, but before he could query her on it she pushed past him and hurried away.
Skrabal entered his locker room and placed his Mile High Wrestling Ultimate and Phoenix title belts on a table, next to a an open box of beer, then took a bottle from inside it. He turned to walk towards the sofa and as he passed the small sink he spat into it.
Blood.
Nothing but blood.
Skrabal froze on the spot at the sight of it. He walked towards the sink and spat again.
More blood.
He slowly raised his gaze from the blood stained sink and as he set his eyes upon his reflection he realised why mothers had covered their children’s eyes, and he realised why Jessica McDaniel had reacted with pure horror during their brief meeting.
His torso was a claret smeared mess, his face a bruised and swollen mask of blood and brick dust. His nose appeared to be broken and his right eye was in a similar state to what Bullet had left it in after Rise Again, bloodshot and almost swollen shut. Skrabal looked at his reflection, taking in the damage inflicted on him by Reaper during their match and Tyke Index during his murderous assault. After several seconds of standing in silence Skrabal's adrenaline started to fade and the deep, throbbing pain within his head and face started to make it's presence felt.
Location: Skrabals Motel Room, Baton Rouge, Louisiana
Date: November 14th 2019
Time: 11.45AM
The video begins and the screen is filled with the image of Skrabal’s face filling the screen. He slowly moves is head from side to side, slightly, while maintaining eye contact with the camera. He shows off the multiple stitches wounds he carries, all inflicted by Tyke Index over the past month. His face is still slightly swollen and along with the stitched cuts sit multiple grazes caused by the rough surface of the brick that was used on him so savagely by The King Of Coke Mountain. His right eye is still swollen and partially closed.
After ensuring that anybody watching has had a good look at the damage caused on previous show, Skrabal leans forward and props the phone on the coffee table, after a few seconds spent fumbling around out of the shoot he sits back with a fresh joint in his right hand and a bottle of vodka in his left. As he leans back the shot opens up to show both the MHW Ultimate and Phoenix Championships perched atop the backrest of the lemon yellow sofa.
“You done fucked me up fam, I ain’t even deny it. Man like Skrabz got more stitches than he ever had before. Ya nah they thought my nose was broke blad, it’s not but they thought it still. I gotta give it to ya this time Tyke ya really done stepped up, kinda. In fact you done did what I told you ya should a done last time… What did man say to you back then fam? You remember right? I said all you had to do was call me out or jump me from the back instead a that run go ask the bossman shit ya pulled, and ya done did it twice, jumped me from on that typical junkie steeze. I ain't nah if the bossman put you up to it and I ain't give a shit coz that’s your approach this either way, coz I guess your attackin’ some random chick ain’t work out to well for you last time is it? Initially at least, got you an in wit’ Reaper though innit… Yeah I see you fam, you a leech innit. Yeah, ya seen first you were all up on that Lance Mikes buzz that he came in wit’ way back but then he went and ducked man like Skrabz wit’ some bad back bullshit and you saw quick to end that association. Shit, I ain’t blame for you that fam not for a second coz on the real not even you that pussy, anyway I digress innit. Point is before the final note played by the Lance Mikes bandwagon even faded out you were firmly in the passenger seat a Reaper’s on some steam blowin' choo choo bidness.”
He stares in to the camera sarcastically, the remnants of physical pain lingering on his facial expression. He places the joint in his mouth and lights it.
“But for real you caught me slippin’ on that last one fam I should seen that shit comin’ after the first time, that’s my fault innit. Man’s mistake. See I was one track minded, all aboard, full speed ahead ready to derail the latest hype train out the station when a long come Tyke Index wit’ a brick… A fuckin’ brick of all tings blad, what you bring that wit' you did you? Ya nah when I heard Tyke Carry a brick I thought he buy his sniff in bulk but obviously man got that all kinds a fucked up coz the shit be literal, man carries a real brick and he done gave me a real close encounter wit' it for real.”
He lifts the bottle of vodka from the floor, twisting it's cap off as it travels through the air towards his mouth. The clear liquid stings as it travels over his cut and slightly swollen lower lip.
“Man has told ya before he ain’t a psychic, shit I told you last week I ain’t do telepathy but on the level I half feel to the recant that shit now ya nah coz suttin’ that happened last weak done got me thinkin’ I might be gifted for real. I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout on the mic or in the ring either, that shit stay facts. I be talkin’ about... I ain’t nah, it was an experience fam I gotta tell ya, man hasn't got words for it but the shit had me questioning my whole perception... some kinda spiritual shit, maybe metaphysical... Or maybe I done smoked myself crazy or suttin’... I’m a confide in ya right now anyway, who ever be watchin’. Don’t judge me fam I beg you coz it be some out there shit."
He takes another mouth full of vodka. His eyes widen slightly.
"Bricks can talk blad."
A slight laugh escapes but it's quickly stifled, he shakes his head.
"I nah the shit sound crazy but they can... Man a heard it wit’ his own two ears."
He takes another mouthful of vodka then places the bottle on the floor, minus the lid.
"Ya seen when Tyke Index brought a brick down to that ring and tried rearranged man’s face wit’ it... that shit spoke to me on jus’ about e’ry impact. Right up, close and personal, whispered in man’s ear loud and clear... You ain’t gotta say it blad I already said I nah it sound crazy. You wanna nah what it said though innit?... "
He relights his joint, takes a deep puff then looks into the camera smugly, a glimmer of pain showing.
"Yeah, so maybe you crazy too... Don’t worry I’m a tell you one time, on the level... Ya nah couldn’t believe it at first, I mean I seen him pull that shit back and I’m a tell ya e’ryting be in slow motion, all sound disappear too like man’s hearin’ shut off. You nah what it’s like to be surrounded by ten thousand people and you ain’t hear shit? It be kinda unsettling I can’t lie but then I heard it. Fain’t as shit, jus’ a whisper at first… it said to me..."
He leans forwards towards the camera and lowers his voice to a whisper.
"Chiiiiillll…."
He leans back away from the camera.
"Jus’ like that... It be kinda eery innit. Well shit that woke me the fuck up and each hit after that first one came wit’ the quickness."
He leans forward again.
"BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!"
He lights the joint again and leans back away from the camera shaking his head.
"And wit’ each hit it spoke again fam, I swear down it did."
He takes deep puff on his joint.
"What it say though?"
He laughs smugly as he continues.
"It say… YOU GOT THIS…TYKE KNOW IT… TYKE SCARED… HE DESPERATE."
He laughs again, a slight grimace breaking through as the cuts on his face contort his smug smile.
"And fam ya nah what? Man like Skrabz agree wit' that brick on e'ryting it say.
He takes another deep toke on on his joint the sets it down out of shot.
"It's true fam I do. I think it make a real good point. Coz I do got this bredrin, and you stay desperate too plus deep inside yaself you feel it and once again that's the reason for all a this extra shit ya been pullin', from stealin' the Phoenix strap to e'ryting else. I can't believe no one else see it fam it be too blatant. They must see it fam, besides from Reaper and dem, ya I gotta give ya credit for one ting there Tyke coz I ain't ever gonna work out how a educated man like Ay Em Vee out here havin' the wool pulled over his eyes by a junkie. It's what you do though innit, ya did it wi't Mikes and ya tried doin' it wit' me too way back hittin' up my line like I'm ya supplier and it continue on today wit' somebody else. Coz you a typical coke whore innit, always lookin' for a dick to ride... Who it gonna be next?... Chris Mosh?"
He pauses and maintains eye contact as he reaches down for the open bottle of vodka.
"But for real it all be totally unnecessary this time fam, coz you done earned the shot anyway but you always gotta go be Tyke Index innit , you the busiest guy in the set but you jus' puttin' in all that extra work coz ya nah ya never be the star...See what ya should a done is played it humble after I done taught you a lesson last time but I guess you a slow learner, and it show too coz I heard ya boy Taurus done taught ya time and again and ya never learned a ting from it but persistence but I'm a tell ya right now that persistence ain't gonna pay off her fam, this like some Tom and Jerry shit coz you ain't never gonna catch me, but shit like I said you earned ya shot. You earned yaself one more chance at the big strap, one more shot at Mister Eighty Five Percent, one more a those dances you love so fuckin' much wit' man like Skrabz and this time we goin' for an hour blad. Sixty minutes, you earned that fam, and then ya went and made tings a whole lot worse for yaself, coz it's an hour blad, AN HOUR!..."
He leans in closer to the camera, once again puttin' his stitch wounds on display, anger in his eyes.
"And look what the fuck you done to me.. now what you think's 'bout to happen to you?"
He takes another drink from the bottle of vodka then places it back down on the floor.
"Blad you can go ask any chick what I do in sixty minutes fam, that shit get real degradin' and since this ain't our first time, and since we got all this personal history then it ain't lookin' good for ya... Ya seen last time I called it's a castin' couch ting, said you were 'bout to get fucked real hard on cam ,or suttin' like that... but this time it be suttin' else, what i'm 'bout to do a land a man in jail on a Max Hardcore tip fam, you about to get hate fucked for real... What ya waitin' for a no homo or suttin'?"
He picks up the joint from the ash tray and relights it before continuing.
"So you better bring ya brick fam, shit bring a pallet of 'em, some breeze blocks and cement too. Then go find ya self some good solid ground and build yaself lil bitch hut to hide in coz at Black Magic I'm a make sure you realise once and for all that it ain't matter what you do to me blad, anytime anywhere now matter how much blood man a shed, if it ain't happen between those ropes, between those rigs a that bell, then it ain't mean shit and it ain't ever get you that..."
He nods his head back and to the right slighty, towards his MHW Ultimate Championship.
"And come Black Magic, fam you needtsa to pray for some juju or better yet hope there be a witch doctor in the buildin' wit' some skulls to shake and reanimation dance to do coz if you thought you had a near death experience after that buried alive match then you got a whole 'nother lesson comin'."
He leans forward and picks up his phone, the video becomes a blur as the phone moves through the air and the video ends.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 22, 2019 9:12:20 GMT -6
Sunday 17th November 2019,
Backstage of Walmart, Supercenter
Louisiana
Around 11pm
 
I was infuriated, from being jubilant and setting the tone of tonight with the immaculate and impressionable AMV IV and New Nightmare just an hour ago, here I was staring down the barrel of a loaded computer game case, not one but two. I shouted on AMV IV who was trying to stop Reaper from choking out one of the backstage crew for removing one of his boots from his dressing room an hour earlier than our curfew here.
I pointed to the row of cases sitting in front of me, there was miles and miles of them and to make matters worse they all had ‘pre ordered’ stickers on them, the shop had literally sold out of them, every single copy baring the face of our darling dear champion Skrabal Stanzas and his face alone.
I heard that for tonight to happen the staff of Walmart had to work all day to move every last bit of stock to the back, to the area where our supposed ‘dressing rooms’ were, in reality our ‘dressing rooms’ were composed of a few shelves shaped side by side like a rectangle and a row of disgusting looking dead animals which at one point probably doubled up as a poultry aisle. I’m a fucking vegetarian I told AMV IV, who the fuck booked this ‘room’ out? AMV was also irate; he informed me that he told Robert Mack our room requirements for a comfortable stay tonight. It was one thing to have an obstructed view in the ‘arena’ but another as the incoming Ultimate Champion to be insulted like this. My dressing room had a décor lay out of chicken fillet portion packets, a row of computer games with a man I hated more than anyone else in the world and a couple of bottles of water. To make matters worse, on our rider requirements we had requested Ciroc Apple Vodka, what did we have? Walmart new Yumix calorie free range, what the fuck even was this shit?
I made a decision there and then that you could never ever pay me enough to return to Ammo, I was getting treated like a bum, a fool, a buffoon, and I knew that’s the last way I should be feeling, not now, not a week before the biggest match of my career, one where I would finally prove the entire world wrong and show them just who the fuck the iron man is around here, just who the fuck Tyke Index is and always has been, number one my friends, number one, don’t you dare say number two.
Then Skrabz said it, he would say it again and again and again over the past seven days. Always the bridesmaid and never the bride, that’s how it was supposed to feel being Tyke Index these days, but I’d prove him wrong, I would prove them all wrong I told AMV IV. I picked up one of the copies of the freshly released wrestling game and opened the cover, I squinted my eyes away from the disk which much like the cover, and the Mile High Spectacular Two cover, and the PWI Half Year listings, and every other piece of merchandise we ever released in Mile High Wrestling, featured the face of Mr. fuckin’ Stanzas. I was so done, so done that I picked up the game and took it into our makeshift communal area.
I was there, AMV IV was there, Reaper was there; the Summit was there, standing in the perceived communal area of this Walmart. I pointed down to the PS4 which was conveniently already set up and slotted in the shiny disk. I looked at AMV IV and nodded for him to pick up the other controller before Reaper, truth be told, I was angry, but I wasn’t ‘Reaper angry’ and I could do without another New Nightmare tantrum in my life, especially after what had happened in the ring earlier. Last thing I wanted right now was the big man losing his shit and punching ten shades of dog hair out of yours truly for not being able to perform a standing senton splash on the late hours of a Sunday evening.
As the set up mode popped up on the screen I told AMV IV I wanted him to go nobody but Skrabz, it had to be Skrabz, Skrabz was the one. I glanced at the characters and noticed I had two different editions, see that pissed me off even more. Rise In Phoenix edition? I told AMV that I had a problem with that specific edition, funnily enough that was the first night, at that specific event, where I realized we had a problem on our hands, that there was a guy in this company called Skrabz who was seen as more important than me, more illustrious than me, better than me. Of all nights, why would I ever want to remember what I was wearing that night? Why? Why now? Why, after all this time? I ranted to AMV more about how Skrabz had the audacity to claim there was a conspiracy against him, when all this time, it was against me, against everything I had tried to achieve from that very first night in Phoenix.
First thing I noticed was that there was no iron man match mode, strange that, before I lost my shit for the fourth time in the space of an hour AMV explained in the most cohesive manner that of course they would never feature an iron man match, Robert Mack was fixated on absolutely nobody remembering what was going to go down on Sunday when his boy was dethroned in front of the entire world.
Looking at the arenas, I started to feel a cocktail of nostalgia, arousal and pervasively disturbed. There were arenas here that featured some of my happiest memories, times when I felt less paranoid, times like defeating that stupid idiot Anaquin Adams at Good Time but then there was also an emulsion of doom glancing at certain arenas, I could feel my stomach curl at the sight of the Mile High Wrestling 2019 AND 2018 setting, both these back drops had supplied Skrabz with his two most memorable years in professional wrestling, the 2019 setting especially, one in which he would defeat me, I wanted to be sick.
As our characters loaded up, I got angry again, Tyke Index was entering first and Skrabz, Skrabz came down last like some sort of dishevelled saviour, Skrabz was always placed as the saviour around here, AMV IV re assured me that the only reason Skrabz was coming down last was because I was player one and AMV was in fact player two, I suppose I could overlook it for now, but it got me thinking, got the cogs ticking over, there was no way I was coming down at Black Magic first, it was time for Skrabz to wait, time for Skrabz to endure the same wait I had endured my entire career, the wait to become THE GUY around here.
I asked AMV IV to check the finer details of our match contract at Black Magic, AMV informed me that I would in fact be entering first at Black Magic but it was in no way down to a perceived inferiority complex but merely down to being challenger, he did mention he could challenge Mack to change it, but I told him it was fine, we were fine, everything was fine, except this time Skrabz losses.
Circling round the ring, I asked AMV to press the striking circle button at the count of three. I counted down:
Three…
Two…
One…
CIRCLE!
As our fingers mashed the bottom button at the exact same time, I couldn’t believe it, as there was a pixelated Tyke Index staring at the ceiling, while Skrabz, Skrabz hovered over me like a nest of bastardin’ wasps, that prick was always hovering, hovering over my pixelated mess of a character. I yelled that AMV IV must have pressed his button a second earlier than me, but I knew he never, AMV IV knew he never and the worst part was my paranoia knew that he never. AMV IV again played the role of calming diplomat assuring me that it must just be a glitch, but as much as I wanted to believe the fools who had made this game has buggered up to the same level as the jobbers who made WWE 2K20, there was something simmering below the summit, OUR summit that just wouldn’t let my mind sit at ease.
Robert Mack had informed the video game developers that Skrabz was his main man, he was to have the highest attributes, the fastest moves, the quirkiest body language upon making his entrance, everything was designed around here to make Skrabz look better than Tyke Index and I wasn’t standing for it anymore. As Tyke and Skrabz circled each other one more time, I tapped like a tap dancer, but I wasn’t tapping out, I was tapping combinations, doing things I never dreamt possible and at one point as I paused the game to take it all in, I realized I had been playing for one hour and twenty five minutes, according to AMV IV I had taken Skrabz to Coke Mountain 23 times.
Fuck it, I threw the controller down and stormed off. I could hear AMV IV yelling “remember to pin him twenty three times on Sunday and don’t just walk off”.
Monday 18th November
Walmart Supercenter
Louisiana
Around 1amishI headed down the communal area and towards the ring entrance area, I noticed Katrina Mack at the side of my eye eating a boiled egg sandwich, I couldn’t believe my eyes, last time we spoke that bitch was vegan, she had deserted me to by the looks of it. Nobody was on my side anymore, not even the ring crew who were taking apart the ring; one of the crew had the cheek to tell me the show was over, like I was naïve enough to think we were still on the air.
See, I had things to say, whether people wanted to hear them or not, I was sick of being muted, sick of the silence, sick and tired of it all. I watched as the last bolts were taken out and the ring canvass thudded hard to the Walmart floor. I entered the ring which was now completely flat and I started to talk.
For the next hour as crew dissembled the ring and attempted to put back together the usual setting of a Walmart shop, I noticed very few people were listening, nobody was willing to let me in, everyone here had something better to do it seemed, but they didn’t and I would have to make them realize that they never did have something better to do in the first place.
I asked to speak to a superior, a higher up, someone who cared. Robert Mack had made sure all the house microphones were turned off, he wasn’t as stupid as he looked; he didn’t want to get in trouble with Walmart. Who knows maybe he had a secret side job with Walmart that he didn’t want to tell us about? In that case, I wanted to speak with HIS boss, the guy who was letting us run the Walmart tonight. Finally, after around fifteen minutes of sitting on my ass like some sort of hobo, a guy with a sharp looking suit appeared.
“I hear you would like to speak with me sir?”
“Yeah, I want to make a tannoy announcement to all your staff, employees and customers”
Poor bastard running the shop told me they were closed, but I wasn’t having it, I told him if he opened the shop I would sort him out with front row seats to Black Magic. His reply?
“I’m not huge on wrestling but my son is a huge Skrabz fan”
I grimace a smile but I really wanted to punch this guy’s head in and his sons, the little shit, like my career hadn’t suffered enough at the hand of his son’s favourite wrestler. Whatever, I needed this.
As the tannoy is switched on and I find myself sitting in a pretty little office surrounded by flowers and manager post it notes, the syllables and dumb metaphors I normally reserve for the exclusive ears of AMV IV began to fall freely from my pallet and boy what I was saying wasn’t very palatable, certainly not to Skrabz, it was for an acquired taste at best. Anyway, here goes, my address to Walmart customers and beyond.
“Before you pick up your cabbage patches or you put away the last of the wrestling ring, my wrestling ring, I need you to listen and listen real carefully.”
I shimmied myself comfortably into my seat in the office and started to glance at the CCTV, I was desperate to see customers’ reactions, I’m not going to lie, I was absolutely choking for the attention I was receiving.
“Turn around and face me”
I glanced at the store cameras as the customers and staff within the store shared a face of bemusement and at best confusion.
“Go on, turn around and face your nearest camera. Fuck it, smile, you’re on camera”
I chuckled at my incredulous humour, then it dawned on me, for the first time this year everyone had their eyes on me, I was the only person in the entire world that mattered right now and I was going to lap up each and every single second of it, I deserved this, I always had.
“Who has worked here for fifteen years or longer?”
I glanced at the screen and could see a couple of hesitant Walmart veterans.
“Go on, raise your hand, dont be scared.”
I noticed a few hands go up in the air; they weren’t scared at all, these people wanted to be seen, seen just like I did.
“Keep your hand up if you feel appreciated here, keep your hand up if you feel that your hard work has been given the gratitude and respect it truly deserves”
I kept my eyes pinned on the cameras as every single hand went down, there was one still in the air, an old guy who was probably trying his best to hold on to any self-worth he had left, like a deflated air balloon that hand soon went down by his side, his head would soon fall to and as he started to whimper, I should have felt bad, but I didn’t; I had broken this old guy, but it wasn’t my fault, it was their fault, societies fault, those who had procured this old guys failings and let him live the last fifty years of his life without ever telling him he was doing a smashing job or that he stocked those cans of ravioli better than anyone else.
“See, you might recognize my voice as that of Tyke Index, professional wrestler of fifteen years, you should recognize me as that figure but you don’t and here’s why…”
I briefly thought about abandoning every single thing I was about to say, but I couldn’t, not this time, people had to hear and as I turned round to notice that AMV IV was now sitting in the chair beside me, for the last time today he would reassure me that it was my time to talk, so I did and I would…
“For fifteen years I have served my time, I have served time as a professional wrestler and I have served time in a jail cell, incarcerated, forgotten about, left to rot. I have been to the very bottom, to the point where at one point I was even buried alive and at times I have been near the very top but never quite the top”
I paused and looked at the cameras, there were people confused, people zoning out but controversially and most importantly, for the most part, these people were listening to a good story, they wanted to hear more.
“See, like that old guy who broke down five minutes ago I have never quite reached the pinnacle, never quite been the number one guy in my profession, like I say – always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Yet, here is the thing, it’s always been everyone else’s fault, always been someone else holding us down. Someone holding you down, old man, his name is probably John or Peter. Peter and John are constantly being offered promotions, promotions that were always rightfully yours. Today, if nothing else, you have reached a solution, you need to take one of those cans of ravioli that you stock so well and you need to smash it against John or Peters skulls, maybe both if you feel that way inclined, I guarantee you will feel all the better for it.”
I noticed that the old guy had stopped sobbing and approached the dreaded tinned ravioli section, just before he could heed my advice, he was being marched out of the shop and out of a job by security, five minutes later the same security would try to escort me out but here’s the thing, I had commandeered the managers’ office and made sure that door was locked till I had said everything I had to.
“For me, that guys’ name is Skrabal Stanzas, you might know him as Mai Hai Ultimate Champion, man known as Skrabz”
I could see a few heads turn, of course these people knew who Skrabz was; they had been looking at his miserable and sombre little face on their shelves for weeks and months now, dick.
“For almost the past two years I have watched as Skrabal Stanzas takes and takes and takes and takes, takes everything, takes it all, takes my opportunities and makes them his. I have a confession to make…”
I look at AMV IV for a facial expression of content as my raspy throat became a little choked up, when I said AMV would reassure me for the last time earlier, I lied, he would reassure me again now, just when I needed it most.
“Skrabal Stanzas took my Phoenix Championship; some say I lost it but he stole it, Skrabal Stanzas stole my Phoenix Championship like that guy over there is stealing a Dyson”
Pointing at the camera I paused, took a deep breath followed by an even deeper dive into the inner cogs of my deepest thoughts, just then I realized I had already gone too far to stop.
“For the past two years I have tried to find myself, tried to find meaning, dropped pipe bombs, told some lies, told some more lies, all just to feel warm, all just to feel something and it was just then that I realized that I would never truly feel something, not until I defeat Skrabz and prove that I am the greatest professional wrestler that ever lived.”
AMV IV was now patting my shoulder as if I was the champion of the world, confidence and posture was starting to ooze through my pores.
“This Sunday at Black Magic, I do something I have never done before, something that nobody in Mai Hai Wrestling has ever done before and I beat Skrabz when it matters, I beat Skrabz with ten pounds of gold on the line and after an hour of rubbing his pathetic little face about on the mat, my mat, fuck, it was ALWAYS my mat.”
I paused one last time, realizing how big a deal Sunday was, Black Magic was my calling and this time I would need to answer, I had no choice, not anymore.
“On Sunday this number two becomes number one, Skrabz, I see you, I have always seen you and maybe you have been the best in the world, maybe you can fuck bitches for an hour straight but one thing you could never and will not be able to do is hang with the King of Coke Mountain for one hour, one solid hour, no breaks, no toilet sniffs of coke, just you and me, I dare you to hang, double dare you…”
I glanced at a beaming AMV IV before continuing
“Fuck it, I treble dare you Skrabz, I treble dare you to try hang with Tyke Index for an hour. See, when you try hanging with the best in the world, soon you’ll see that for all the lies we have told between us, that the biggest lie was the ones where PWI were all too willingly publishing your name above mines year after year. This Sunday I maim you Skrabz, this Sunday I expose you, I expose everything you have hidden and stolen so well. Here’s the thing, though, every story has a conclusion and at Black Magic someone finally concludes your story.”
For the last time I would glance at AMV IV before speaking with the most conviction I had spoken with for almost fifteen years in this business
“Spoiler alert, that person who concludes your chapter at the top Skrabz?”
I laughed and laughed and laughed, almost hysterically
“Tyke Index”
I laughed, AMV IV laughed; Reaper kicked the office door down. I had no idea The New Nightmare was even standing behind me this whole time like some sort of devil’s advocate angel on my shoulder. Standing on the other side of the door was the manager I had sorted two tickets to Black Magic, a couple of security and a police officer, the manager snarled.
“I said a brief announcement, not a fuckin’ biblical monologue”
I brushed past him laughing, as one of the security went to grab my arm, Reaper seen to him, of course he did, as for the other security and police officers? It’s not like they were going to mess with that big bastard, a fourth generation lawyer or the next Ultimate Champion, was it?
Course they weren’t…
As we finally stepped outside the Walmart and into the cold Louisiana air, AMV whispered in my ear that revisionist theory in ten years would serve us as the good guys and not the bad ones we were always painted as. I hoped and wished with all my heart that AMV was right, otherwise all this would have been for nothing and I wasn't prepared to live for nothing, I wasn't prepared to leave Sunday without the Mai Hai Ultimate Championship...
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Post by Skrabz on Nov 23, 2019 22:10:19 GMT -6
Location: Skrabals Motel Room, New Orleans, Lousianna
Date: November 22nd 2019 Time: 5.10PM
The scene opens to Skrabal Stanzas sitting on the baby pink sofa in his motel room with his MHW Ultimate and Phoenix Championships perched on the sofa behind him. His gaze lingers on something out of shot, a smile creeps over his face and the sounds of female laughter can be heard somewhere out of view. Skrabal turns his head and focus on the camera, now with his face fully shown we can see that the swelling has reduced considerably since the last time we saw him, but the stitches are still fastened tightly in his skin. He leans back on the sofa, revealing that for once he is wearing his own merchandise, as his brand new "Mr. 85%" hoody becomes visible.
"Yeah, man's a hypocrite innit. He self aware at least."
He gestures towards the his hoody.
"See I done give 'em all enough shit about the crap they sellin' wit' they names on and here I be doin' the same ting. Get it while ya can though coz that number stay risin' and ain't gonna be another one till man hits ninety."
As he stops talking, as if on cue a female enteres the shot, visible from the waste down her naked white ass fills the screen for a second before she sets down two bottles of beer somewhere close to the cameras position. She hands Skrabal a joint then exists the shot. Skrabal puts the joint in his mouth and lights it.
“It ain't all fun and games though is it? Nah! In fact I think I'm a speak for about ten thousand people sat in that Raisin' Cane’s buildin’ and a whole lot more who watch the shit at home when I say that dee que dub a let down, straight trash fam scratch that from the record books coz man like Skrabz ain’t rep it for a second. That’s where we at is it? What already? The shit be kinda dire if you ask me fam. I be straight embarrassed for ya big man, on the real. Man like Reaper realyin’ on bitch made Tyke to keep his mystique intact. That’s a poor look bredrin I gotta tell ya. Maybe you think coz your own vision be obscured by that ridiculous shit ya got on ya face that ain’t nobody else see tings for what they be…
He shakes his head dismissively and puffs on his joint.
"Worst ting for man like Skrabz is it ain’t satisfy the cravin’, it ain’t even come close. Man a be used to that good good ya nah, that pure shit and that heavy cut dee que dub done left me wit them shivers so I be lookin’ for a real good fix come Black Magic. And ya nah I’m ‘bout to get it too, gonna be even more satisfyin’ coz Tyke actually earned his shot this time, kinda, ain’t no favours or bullshit unless you believe that gas Zombie be chattin’ ‘bout lettin’ Tyke take the dub, that’s loser talk for real though."
He laughs at Zombie's claims and shakes his head as he leans forward and grasps a bottle of beer.
“But shit Tyke, you comin’ out on top at that four way ting be the beginin’ a the end for you ya nah. What you ain’t learn none from Solomon Cain?... For real I be worried ‘bout your future coz I see a lil Cain in you I can’t lie fam and I ain’t talkin’ ‘bout that shit you shovel up ya snout either... But you ain’t no lost child, you ain’t no wild dawg, nah. So what I mean then?...
He pauses and looks into the camera as if waiting for an answer.
“I mean the path you treadin’ be real similar to the one Solomon walked coz he came up short the first time back at Good Time then dug down deep to earn that rematch in a four way ting jus’ like you did, and he blew that too. Then he went off the rails innit, tried suicide but you stopped him and then it got worse, he went out there doin’ all kinds a crazy shit from hangmans matches to whatever the fuck that Ricky Stanton shit be, from there he recruited the biggest bunch a bitches since the Maidens to watch his back and he still ain't get over it, so then he went and caught himself an OD. You can trace that all back to me fam, man like Skrabz be the reason Cain ain’t ‘round no more coz him earnin’ that second shot be the worst ting that ever happen in that man’s life, worse than his ol’ man walkin’ out on him, worse than his junkie mother sellin’ herself for a five dollar rock... And I see you goin’ the same way blad coz you ask me it ain't matter how many shots you take you gonna keep missin' for as long as man like Skrabz remain in ya sights. And you a lot like Cain's Ma too, 'cept it ain't five dollars you a sell yourself for is it? Nah, it be suttin' worth a lot less than that.”
He shakes his head again, as disdain flashes across his face, before taking a big drink of beer from the bottle.
“Coz I can't believe what I be hearin' 'boutchu Tyke. Shit ya nah how people be innit, they talk and talk. Any lil' whisper pon the road soon become a shout and before ya nah it e'rybody done heard the tale. Man has a heard a tale or two too ya nah, biggest rumour out there at the minute be that Tyke Index done spent the last year a his life frettin' and cryin' over a list... S'what they been sayin' to me anyway... I said nah that's stoopid fam, cut the pretence innit but they swore down it's true. I had to shake my head ya nah...Coz what the list be though? It gotta be his hit list right, coz since the day he got here he been scratchin' 'em off one by one, week after week, bi-week after bi-week... Hol' up, hol' up... Man has to apologise ya nah, I kinda started talkin' about myself there innit. It happens ya nah, I be a lot to talk about...
A smug look descends across his face and in the background a female can be heard saying "A whole lot". He takes another drink of beer, finsihing the first bottle and placing it back on the table, before continuing.
Anyway, the fuck was I?... Yeah, so it can't be a hit list coz this Tyke Index we talkin' 'bout so maybe it be a list phone numbers or suttin' coz he out here chirpsin' the gyal dem left an' right, that boy take a bag a pussy back to the... Wait, hol' up... I'm talkin' about myself again innit...
He laughs hard and loud then places the joint in his mouth and speaks, the joint moving up and down as the words escape his partially closed lips.
"Shit, so what this list be?”
He takes a deep draw on the joint, inhaleing a cloud of pungent smoke, then exhales it directly upwards, towards the ceiling.
“You ain't gonna believe it fam, not if ya got any sense... Coz ya seen I heard 'em say for the past year a his life Tyke Index been losin' sleep and losin' his mind all coz a some dirt sheet top one hundred shit... Oh yeah you nah I ain't talkin' 'bout me now innit...
He laughs again, smugly, as another half naked female enters the shot, her caramel skin somplimented by the dim lighting as she slips the lit joint from Skrabal's fingers and hands him a loaded bong. Skrabal takes the bong and waves her away, then places the bong on the table in front of him.
“Ya seen apparently, and I ain't nah if the shit be true but they say Tyke been havin' a break down over a dirt sheet, and before you all sit down behind ya keyboards and start spoutin' off at the finger tips about real wrestlin' journalism I'm a tell ya to shove ya eleven ninety nines right up ya backsides coz fam, on the real man like Skrabz ain't about a WON sub and I be jus' a lil' offended by this bullshit. I mean is it really that blad? Ya mean to tell me that's what all this nonsense and foolishness been about? You wanna be number one on some bullshit internet top tier list... FAM BUN THAT!... So what, you try kill man like Skrabz wit' a fuckin' brick jus' to get Dave Meltzer's attention or suttin? Is it? Shit, you wanna do that jus' name a move after him on some Young Bucks bullshit and he sure to be sittin' round cryin' while he watch you work. But I has to ask again bredrin I really does, is it really that?”
He leans forwards, over the bong and places his lips to it. Out of shot he moves a lighter over the bowel and inhales. Smoked bursts through the water and fills the chamber and shoots down deep in to his lungs. He stifles a cough then exhales a huge cloud of smoke, compeltely filling the scene. As the smoke clears he continues.
“Coz that's what I'm hearin' fam, that's what they sayin' 'boutchu and I really ain't be surprised if it's true. Coz that's what's wrong witchu innit, that's what be wrong wit' this bidness and you ain't the only one nah, there be a buch of 'em you just the biggest one I done crossed paths wit' so far.”
He hold his hand out and the one of the females slips a freshly rolled joint bwteen his fingers.
“What are you fam?“
He places the joint in his mouth and lights it.
“You nah exactly what the fuck you are blad, and so does man like Skrabz. You a mark, straight and simple...
He takes a few rapid puffs on his joint in quick succession.
"And you ain't even a mark for the money nah, you a mark for Meltzer star ratin's innit... You make me sick fam. All a ya.... See I ain't no bidness vet, man has been in it jus' five years or so but I been on that cabby shit since day, that mean I done the knowledge, checked the ting, I studied the shit before I even read Sun Tzu so I nah a lil suttin' about the history a the bidness we both happen to work in right now. The shit done changed a whole lot but I ain't 'bout to get too deep in it, only point worth makin' 'bout the history is ya go back jus' a lil way and man like Tyke Index used to be sat at home behind a keyboard. Yeah the see the prollem witchu Tyke, and the prollem wit' this bidness is most the people workin' it grew up mouthin' off online and you done convinced yaselves that internet opinions matter, well it ain't the internet puttin' food on ya plate fam nah, that's the people in the seats and they ain't give a shit about Melzter and his five star ratin's or none a that nonsense. That's why you dropped ya lil pipe bomb way back in a Haitch Cee Dub too, all for those clicks innit, you went out to that Haitch Cee Dub ring and bitched and complained and the only people who agreed withcu ain't ever leave the basement. And if it ain't be for ya delusions a grandeur and that courage ya be snortin' you'd be right there with ya waifu pillows typin' along wit' 'em right now arguin' 'bout ratin's or suttin'."
He shakes his head and laughs at the image, then leans forward for his second bottle of beer.
“But I nah it ain't really be that. I mean it can't be. It gotta jus' be rumours coz it took you a fuckin' year to step to man the first time, it can't be that coz man a remember a lil while back you said that same shit to Bullet, said she was a the top at that same list. Now I ain't check the ting myself coz for real five stars from Melzter mean about as lil to me as five mics in The Source plus the only list I done give a shit about be the one put out by Mi' High and I stay firmly pon the top a that, so I aint nah who be toppin' Melzters shit and I ain't care a bit, but I nah it can't be me and Bullet... I guess that jus' be another one a ya delusions though innit. Plus last time back before Spectacular Two you were tellin' e'ry who'd listen this was about some unrequited friendship you wanted wit' man like Skrabz... I guess that be another one a ya delusions too... ”
He raises his eybrows sarcastically then kisses his teeth before continuing.
“I be getting' real sick a this Tyke's delusional shit ya nah, coz his motives be changin' almost as often up man like Skrabz switch up his slam piece, so ya nah we talkin' almost pon a daily basis. Anyone else do that they be a laughin' stock innit, not Tyke though nah, he delusional...”
He shakes his head again sarcastically, and quickly downs the bottle of beer then drops the empty bottle on the floor. Almost immediately the caramel toned female swoops in to pick it up. "Good gyal" Skrabal says without looking in her direction.
“I'm a tell ya right now Tyke the only legit delusion you ever had in a ya life be when ya done convinced yourself you on my level, coz you ain't even near. Man like Skrabz be off the hook and you jus' lack conviction and I ain't talkin' 'bout that courtroom bullshit Ay Em Vee done helped you out wit, nah. You lack conviction in e'ry lil ting ya do. That's why it took ya so long to topple Taurus and that's why ya got yaself buried by Zombie in an act a irony that a have Alanis Morrisette re-writing her shit and that's why you gonna be walkin' outta Black Magic empty handed.”
He glances over his right shoulder at the MHW Ulltimate Championship Belt, which is perched on the backrest of the baby pink sofa.
“But shit I heard they be questionin' man's stamina, wonderin' if I'm a be able to go the full hour. I mean they ain't ask me blad they never do, jus' put the question out there knowin' I'm a hear it if it really matter. Why they doubtin' the big strap packer though? Coz I been' hangin' for the best part a two years so why the fuck an hour matter? They be sayin' all this smokin' I does gonna hold me back, and yeah I'm a be real, I ain't be one a these heads out here claimin' the shit harmless, it ain't be a miracle cure and on the real my chest might be a lil tighter than it was a few years back but I ain't cut back nah, in all a truth the thought a bein' in Tyke Index company for an hour got me smokin' more than ever. Shit, I'm a need me a big ol' blunt and a couple bottles a beer jus' to pass the time out there, might even need ya to carve me up a line or two to keep me awake coz you the most borin' cat that ever done crossed my path. I ain't nah how you take so many drugs and stay so dull. For real I don't. But truth is I ain't have to worry 'bout no sixty minutes anyway, coz I'm a take you out in the first ten and spend the nex' fifty pickin' you up jus' to put you back down. Coz this ain't Haitch Cee Dub fam and I ain't Tauras. I ain't Gray Zee, I ain't Martin Seas, I ain't Raven Trueblood, Trent Harper, Scythe Bloodline, or Bandera."
He takes a deep toke on his joint the silently mouths "nah" with smoke pouring from his lungs.
"I ain't like anyone you ever faced before and you nah the shit be true. So like I done told ya already, you can bring ya brick, shit bring Lance Mikes and Reaper too if ya think it gonna help ya, you can even bring Dave Meltzer and I can show him what the fuck he been writin' bout all these years first hand... And speakin' a Reaper it be real funny how you latched on to the man hopin' he gonna carry you to the top and all he done so far is carry you to the back, but that suttin' that gonna keep on happenin' till he get sick a luggin' your washed up self around wit' him coz you done fam, it's all over for ya, trust!"
He pauses and takes another couple of puffs on his joint.
"Ya nah it be kinda fittin' that this an Iron Match coz your arc reactor need a recharge and you low-key 'bout to get your heart pieced and that's some Tony Stark truth for ya, ya get me? So it ain't matter what ya bring or what ya do Tyke coz when that time limit expire it only gonna be man like Skrabz rasin' the strap.”
He pauses briefly before continuing, his words carrying a rhythmic flow as they leave his mouth.
"Coz It's like I stepped outta fire how I glow so hot, you bout to get ya mojo shot. Only way you seen holdin' straps fam is photoshop, but I keep that metal on my body like I'm Robocop."
He pauses for another puff on his joint and as he does a slender white arm and hand enters the scene holding a beer and hands it to Skrabz.
"Yeah... and you Ed Two Oh Nine, so you ain't never make it make it to my level anyway, you 'bout to trip on the steps... Shit you 'bout to be Dick Jones too coz after Black Magic I'm a send ya plummettin' to the ground and even though the fall might make ya limbs look longer your arms still too short to box wit'... Nah that's some shit man like you would say, coz ya heard somebody else say it."
He pauses and takes a drink of beer.
"And I ain't like you..."
He takes another drink of beer.
"And that ain't a simile."
He takes another drink of beer, finishing the bottle then hands the it of the caramel skinned female.
"Coz I had jus' about enough a your bullshit blad, on the level. How many times you bus' me open? How many times you jumped me from the back? How many man you had out there tryin' a fight me for ya? Ain't nobody else took such a bitch route while still claimin' they the best. You wanna be the best is it fam? That's why you here? Coz you wanna be the best wrestler in the world... You been tryin a long time innit, fifteen years or so I heard. That be a long time fam, for real. You got any idea where man like Skrabz be fifteen years ago? Shit I be about twelve years old back then, and you were out here tryin' a be the best. It gotta really piss you off innit, coz while you been tellin' people you the best and failin' to prove it man like Skrabz show up outta nowhere like a Mic Check and within' no time at all he got 'em all sayin' it for him. I mean you ever hear those words come outta my mouth? You ever her me say I be the best? Nah, coz I ain't say it I jus' prove it e'ry time I step in the ring and it ain't ever be no technical masterclass I'm a hold my hands up to that, there ain't be no rollin' Germans or Crossfaces, in fact the only ting man a have in common wit' someone like Benoit is we both likely to choke a bitch... and yeah I prolly ain't ever get five stars from ya boy but I get dubs fam, too many to mention, and that's a whole lot more than you can say innit. And you nah jus' how much the dub mean to me too, it be you that coaxed out my confession last time 'round. I ain't beat the addiction bredda, it still have it's claws in me real deep and after that half a dose I caught against Reaper I need me a full servin' and at Black Magic I get to re-dose over and over again until the time run out."
He turns and reaches over his right shoulder then grasps his MHW Ultimate Championship, then he turns and reaches over his left shoulder for the MHW Phoenix Championship. He places a belt over each shoulder and continues."
"You remember what this feel like, right? You done had ya grubby lil' paws all over each a these tings back on Episode Twenty Two after ya done had Lance Mikes do ya dirty work. You better cherish that memory fam, go write yaself a detailed account of it right now. I wanna read that shit in ya memoirs after ya finally done hung ya boots up. I wanna see you tell e'ryone who wanna listen to you jus' what it felt like to stand in the big strap packer's boots. Coz you got jus' a glimpse a what it's like to be the best, yeah I said it this time, you got a lil sense a what I feel and I nah that shit gonna stay witchu for the rest a ya life coz holdin' both a these here straps for jus' a minute be the highlight a ya entire fifteen year career."
He pauses and takes a couple of quick tokes on his joint.
"And for man like Skrabz it be jus' another day."
He finishes his joint, his eyes locked on to the camera throughout, and as he exhales his final puff the video ends.
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