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Post by Devlin Knight. on Aug 19, 2022 21:14:03 GMT
Tuesday, August 8th, 2022 - Santa Monica, CA. Santa Monica Pier.
It’s the coming of sunset as all kinds of families, locals and tourists alike, are walking back and forth on the Santa Monica Pier. As we pan and float between the men, women and children coming from and going to Pacific Park or visiting the Heal the Bay Aquarium, we spot the two walking towards the rides… Fred Debonair dressed in a pair of black cotton shorts, an open white shirt and white flip-flops eating an ice cream. Next to him, scoffing down some cotton candy, is Aurora, who is dressed in a flowing white maxi dress with a white two-piece swimsuit underneath. Fred looks up and points towards the Pacific Wheel, to which Aurora “mmhmm”s and nods in agreement.
They show their wrist bands to the attendant and climb into one of the pods, taking their seats as the wheel begins to move around slowly, allowing other riders off and on, the other pods. Fred finishes the last bit of his cone and leans back in the seat, looking out across the Pier and the ocean. Aurora unclips her purse and pulls out some lipstick, which Fred ignores, applying it as he squints at the Sun dipping into the horizon.
Fred: ”Ain’t no better sunset, than a Cali sunset I can tell you that.”
Aurora: ”Did you miss the sunsets, when you were with me in Sydney? Oh, wait! You did…”
Fred: ”Touché, I think it’s living in London this whole time, you don’t really get to appreciate them, or spend them with people you’re becoming attached to…”
Aurora looks at Fred who is still looking out towards the ocean. She smiles to herself as he turns around to face her.
Fred: ”You know it just occurred to me, I don’t even know your last name…”
Aurora: ”Oh, have I never told you?”
Fred: ”No, you haven’t and in fairness I’ve not actually asked.”
Aurora: ”Isn’t that weird?”
Fred: ”I know right?!”
The sky has now begun to grow darker and the lights all around Pacific Park come to life, the noises from the people below can be heard clear as day, but the silence inside the Pacific Wheel pod, is palpable. Fred raises an eyebrow in Aurora’s direction.
Fred: ”…So?”
Aurora: ”Hm? Oh! It’s Frost.”
Fred: ”Ok, when we first met you swore your name wasn’t a stage name…”
Aurora: ”What?! It isn’t! That’s my name!”
Fred: ”Your actual name, is Aurora Frost?”
Aurora: ”Yes! And what about you, Mister Pro Wrestler?! Is Debonair your real last name??”
Fred: ”Live and in living color! Down and down through the generations, meaning pleasant and mighty… Got one of them right with me at least.”
Aurora: ”And now you’ve got to pass it on to that kid of yours. I mean what the hell was that during your tag defence??”
The wheel has reached the bottom, but they’ve still got a few times to go around. Fred watches people on the Whack-A-Mole across from them before fully turning to Aurora now.
Fred: ”You know I really don’t get him. He’s bitter that’s for sure, but what he did during my match was the epitome of petty! I mean firstly he interferes in a formerly Welcoming Committee but now CCPE tag-title match by trying to take me and Page out with brass knuckles and when that failed he lured me from the ring, he Powerbombed me through a table backstage too and boy does that hurt, heh! But low and behold Fred Debonair, Chris Page, The Welcoming Committee… C.C.P.E! Still hold the IIW Tag-Titles, still remain victorious and reign supreme in IIW!”
Aurora: ”And of course, later in the night… You were able to pay him back, for his awful, disrespectful attack on you, earlier.”
Fred: ”Hey, it had to be done, I’m sorry this is happening but I’ve tried to discipline my son in the right ways and he flat out tries to assault me?! So he had to get a proper CCPE welcome. Bam, Justin and I put paid to any ideas he may have in his head… And right now, he’s being treated at one of the very finest private hospitals, in Los Angeles paid for by Debonair Enterprises… And being treated by one Doctor Hankem.”
Aurora: ”Wait, Hankem? Isn’t he the Doctor who…-“
Fred: ”Treated Tyler at Resnick Psychiatric Hospital? It most certainly is… I believe Tyler needs to be reassessed and he agrees with me. So Tyler won’t be coming to Anaheim, his time in the Hospital will be at least another few days, plus the assessment, who knows? Tyler may end up having to be readmitted.”
Aurora: ”You don’t think that’s going a little too far, Fred?”
The Wheel stops with their Pod at the bottom and the door is opened for them to leave. Fred hops out, turns and takes Aurora’s hand which catches her slightly off guard as Fred helps her onto the concourse again and they make their way from the ride.
Fred: ”Going too far, Ms. Frost, would be doing nothing when it’s becoming increasingly clear to me he’s unwell again and allowing him to continue to compete in IIW, knowing full well he could be a danger to himself and other people. He won’t listen to me, but he may listen to Doctor Hankem and he may listen to Osh and IIW Management… On top of all this going on with him, he also needs to understand you don’t disrespect me like that, I don’t give a damn if you’re my son, his girlfriend, Nelson Mandela or Mother freakin Teresa! If you step to Fred Debonair! If you step to The Original… Then we’re gonna have issues! Tyler found that out, The Excellence found that out and pretty soon Crush will find it out, too… But before then I’m gonna have to see about his little boy-toy.”
Aurora: ”PG-13…”
Fred: ”Ok, so you have been paying attention. I like that.. Maybe later we can let off a little steam? But right now I’ve got other frustrations I need to vent… So let me have a crack of this!”
Fred pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, placing the part where his bank card is up against the payment pad, on the Whack-A-Mole and picks up the two mallets, handing one to Aurora, as we fade out on them attacking the Moles…
Friday, August 12th, 2022 - Los Angeles, CA. Playhouse Hollywood Nightclub.
It’s pretty late at night and Fred, Aurora and a couple of Fred’s old friends, are sat in a VIP booth of Playhouse Hollywood. One of those friends is a Mexican man called Héctor García, who used to ply his trade in the Wrestling world wearing a mask and calling himself “Baybee G-Zus”. He and Fred had teamed up for a while in the RWF until a botched Moonsault landed García in hot water and he was never able to wrestle again. At this current time, Aurora is chatting with Héctor García’s wife whilst Fred pours himself and G-Zus a glass of Johnnie Walker Blue from the bottle he’d ordered earlier.
Fred: ”Man it’s great to see you, it’s been what? Twelve years?!”
G-Zus: ”You too man, yeah about that! I see you’re still wrestling too bub! How’s that going?”
Fred: ”Yeah it’s going well. I’m currently in the midst of destroying my ungrateful son and carrying the IIW Tag belts, things are getting bigger by the week and come Monday I will have dispatched a passer-by sending him back to where he came from!”
G-Zus: ”Your son? What?! And a passer-by? And where’s IIW? Sorry bro, I’ve been out of the loop to any promotion since getting mine off the ground…”
Fred: ”IIW is in Manchester, England man, but we’re currently going on the road so to speak. We were out here in L.A on Monday night and then we’re in Anaheim on the twenty-second. You should come check us out! As for Tyler? Well long story short, he became slightly unhinged in the mentality department. Went to a psychiatric unit for a few years, came out all good but suddenly started getting paranoid and blaming me for everything and so I’ve begun to give him shit to blame me for! As for the passer-by, some big fucker called PG-13 has decided to gate crash IIW and pick a fight with one of his old girlfriends I guess, a guy named Crush aptly enough… Well those two have been going back and forth for the last little while, whilst Crush is holding on to the IIW United Kingdom Title and hasn’t been defending it against deserving people such as myself…”
Fred necks what’s left of his Johnnie Walker and pours himself and Héctor another glass, taking one of the six bottles from his $4,500 “Baller Rack” of Dom Perignon and pouring it for Aurora and the rest of their table.
G-Zus: ”Damn that’s a lot to be dealing with… Yeah I’ll come check you out bro and yeah this Crush seems like he’s trying to avoid any proper challenge and just keep it in the family so to speak against this PG-13 character…”
Fred: ”Yeah so now I’ve taken it upon myself to break down the excuse, obstacle, distraction or whatever the hell you want to call PG-13, so that I can get straight to the heart of the matter and remove the UK Title from Crush, considering he won’t put it up whilst this beef is in the way. But what’s this brother? You own a promotion?!”
G-Zus: ”That makes a lot of sense and I sure do man… It’s called KCW or Killer Cali Wrestling! You should come and speak about your match in IIW, we’re based in Anaheim and our next card is four days before yours.”
Fred: ”That’s definitely something we can make happen bro.. Woah, is that… Hey Hec, hold on for a minute okay??”
Fred pats Héctor on the shoulder and gets up, moving away from the table. He’s fixated on a sight as he approaches the dance floor, before stopping and just laughing, impressed with what he is seeing… On the dance floor, surrounded by a handful of girls, is none other than IIW Backstage Interviewer, Michael Morrison. He’s really getting into it before he looks up and spots Fred. He laughs, claps his hands together and points at him as he moves toward him.
MM: ”Heyyy! If it isn’t mean ol’ Dred Frebonair! Howsh you bosh?”
Fred: ”Hey! What’s up Michael? You okay buddy? You here with anyone, from the company?”
MM: ”Camp Pony? Oh.. EyeyEyeyDub? No man, I’m heee all by meeshelf! Chime off afore nesht Meyem!”
Fred: ”Ahhh, oookay! Listen buddy, I’m about to go have a quick smoke outside, how about you come out and get some air eh?”
Fred leads the way, with Michael stumbling along behind him. He grabs a glass of water from the bar before stepping out into the designated smoking courtyard and turns to stop Morrison from falling into him. He hands him the glass of water, stands him up against the wall, straightens him up and smirks. He turns and pulls a mini humidor from his inside waistcoat pocket, taking out a cigar and lighting it as he sighs and looks up at the night sky.
Fred: ”So Mike! Not generally a big drinker are you?”
MM: ”Not yooshlee no! Met a gal anshee brought mehee… But shegun now!”
Fred: ”Right… Man that’s such a bitch move! Sorry she ditched you bro…”
MM: ”Shookay, fanks man… Whabbyu? Not preparing fur piggy furty”
Fred: ”Eh? Sorry what?”
MM: ”Piggy furty? Beeguy!”
Fred: ”Ooh! PG-13?! Yeah don’t worry about me man, I’ve got that on lock with the safety off…”
MM: ”Googoo… You neesh beat himup, yoush googuy Flebonair…”
Fred: ”No I’m not.”
MM: ”Nooo yoush not yoush total bushteed… Oh! Pleash don’t beaten meup…”
Fred laughs, as he puffs on his cigar, and forces Morrison to drink more water. He calls to one of the bouncers, asking him to keep Michael safe in the courtyard area before heading back into the club. He explains to Aurora and the other guests what’s happening, says his goodbyes and leaves, Aurora right behind him. They walk back into the courtyard where Morrison is telling the bouncer what is either a very pathetic story, or a joke. Fred thanks the bouncer who looks relieved to be told he can go.
MM: ”And soooee shays… She’s nothee Vagina, shesha very narthy girl! Hahahaha!”
Fred: ”Alright Mike, listen buddy. Did IIW put you up somewhere for your time off??”
MM: ”Ooh Frog! Your bash! Yeah… I’m inthee Hoshell Fargorower!”
Fred: ”The where??!?”
Aurora: ”He said he’s staying at the Hotel Figueroa, it’s right across the street thankfully.”
Fred: ”How did you…? Nevermind actually, look… It’s gone one in the morning, I’ve got to meet people at six. Let’s get him back to his room then we can shoot back to my house.”
Aurora knows exactly what’s coming… That’s what she said… And there was no need to ask her twice. She wraps an arm around Michael Morrison and drapes his arm over her shoulder, Fred does the same on the other side and the two “Jake-the-Peg” their way across the street, from Playhouse Hollywood, to the Hotel Figueroa. They enter the lobby, as Fred fishes Michael’s room key from his pants and looks at the elevator.
They exit on the fourth floor and head to room 438, moving past rows of framed photos on the walls. They unlock his door, drag him in and launch him on the bed. Fred checks Morrison’s cellphone and pulls the man’s head up, shoving the phone in his face which, after a few ridiculous attempts at facial recognition, finally unlocks. He goes straight for the alarm clock and sets them from 6:30am. Aurora grabs a jug and fills it with cold water, dropping a strip of Asprin and Ibuprofen beside it… Fred grabs a notepad and pencil that is lying on the tea and coffee tray and writes on it… “YOU OWE ME! YOU MADE ME END MY NIGHT EARLY! Fred D. Oh and get yourself some Pepto!” He places the notepad by the jug and turns to leave.
Aurora: ”So you can be the good guy?”
Fred: ”Good and bad are subjective mannerisms and personality traits sweetheart. You’ll find that no matter who you are, so long as you’re good with me and loyal, you get no heat. Since I arrived in IIW, Mike over there? He’s always gone out of his way to help me out and accommodate me. This guy has shown me more respect and loyalty since I signed with IIW, than that shitheap that came out of my nutsack some twenty odd years ago I can tell you that for change!”
Aurora: ”It’s a great trait to have, looking after those close to you. And if you’re concerned at all about me, not that you’ve given any indication of that, you really don’t have to be.”
Fred: ”No concern here. You were very apprehensive about traveling to the US, but you came anyway… I’m generally a good judge of character.”
Aurora: ”Well you are with me, I can assure you of that.”
The two leaveMorrison’s hotel room and head down toward the lobby, via the elevator.
Fred: ”Well before now I’ve only ever known one true family who were synonymous with loyalty and that was B.E.S.T in the RWF, stood for Blood, Energy, Sweat and Tears. Myself, Riley Andrews, Mike Arches, Shawn King, there were a few others but we were the backbone of the group. Now CCPE is very different from that and can’t be touched by The Coalition.”
Aurora: ”The Coalition?”
Fred: ”A faction that I was part of, with John Cavanagh over a decade ago. The difference between the two is simply that in The Coalition, it was about necessity, it was about favour and scratching backs and with Page and CCPE everybody knows where they stand, everyone knows their place and no one person interferes with another. And that is what is going to allow each one of us to rise further and further, both individually and collectively. Hey look, a cab let’s get back to mine and talk strategy...”
Fred smirks and smacks Aurora on the ass, as they head toward the cab. The driver flicks his light off and pulls away from the curb, as the scene begins to disintegrate.
Saturday, August 13th, 2022. - The Port of Los Angeles.
Row upon row of shipping container line the Port of Los Angeles, as the clock strikes 6am. The sun is yet to rise but the blue, red, orange and white containers still flicker with the reflection from both the dock lights and the cranes. Fred Debonair appears from around the corner of one of the containers, dressed in black dress shoes, black jeans and a black button up shirt; in his hand rests a thickly rolled joint which is slowly burning as he approaches the three men in front of him.
Fred: ”So which one of you gentlemen am I speaking with here today?”
One of the men steps a little closer. He’s tallest of the three, caramel skinned with an extremely thin goatee. He’s wearing a rather comical yet stylish purple suede suit and hat, not unlike that which a Pimp would wear, his southern accent too obvious.
Man: ”Well that would be me, Mr. Debonair. The name is Clyde Lewis and I am Mister Jacobs’ attaché.”
Fred: ”And why am I not meeting with Mister Jacobs himself?”
Clyde: ”I’m sure you can appreciate Mr. Debonair, this is a new transaction…?”
Fred: ”Of course, of course… You’re well aware of my status though of course and the structure of how these deals have worked, in the past?”
Clyde: ”Absolutely.”
Fred: ”Then you’re also aware that it is your boss, Mister Jacobs, who is new in this chain and I, who is auditioning you?”
There is a slightly awkward silence as this realisation does set in, with Clyde and those he is with. Fred takes another toke on the blunt and blows it upwards. He offers the smoke to Clyde who accepts and while he’s doing that, Fred pulls a briefcase from behind him and dumps it onto a small oil drum that’s beside the group.
Fred: ”So, Mr. Lewis, the proposal is this… I can get you goods either weekly or monthly, minimum two hundred kay or it’s a waste of my time… In fact that prob is a waste of my time but I like to help out the newcomers onmy patch.”
Clyde: ”I believe that’s definitely something we can arrange, Mr. Debonair…”
Fred: ”And I want to meet with Mister Jacobs before any deal is sanctioned… In that briefcase which you’ll be taking back with you, to Mister Jacobs, is two grams of product. The “street value” is decent enough, given as it’s a gesture of goodwill and loyalty for this deal on my behalf. You’ve got my number, Mr. Lewis.”
The sun has by this stage come up and Fred has walked back to his car, leaving the briefcase behind. As Fred peels away, one of the other men opens the briefcase and the smile on Clyde Lewis’ face as he nods, is very visible…
…An hour or two later and Fred is parked up on one of the many Californian hillsides. Just behind him is a coffee and breakfast truck, that is currently serving a host of people who’ve just disembarked a coach, tourists most likely… A few hundred feet along the mountain top, Fred is sat on the hood of his rental and he’s eating a sausage and bacon bagel, a cup of flat white sits beside him. He’s looking out at the view, soaking it all in; a pair of shades sits on top of his head. His attention is caught by a black Mercedes SUV slowly pulling up alongside him. The engine cuts and the drivers side door opens, Fred doesn’t divert his attention from the view as his close friend and head of the Greenberg crime family out of Hell’s Kitchen, Abe Greenberg, walks toward his rental and leans against it.
Abe: ”They've got him sedated at the moment, Dr. Hankem will have a chat with him tomorrow, he’s healing up well.”
Fred: ”That’s a shame, maybe I should slow than that healing process.”
Abe: ”Maybe you should slow down a bit… You’ve made your point.”
Fred: ”You know me better than to suggest I slow down. I don’t let people make Fred Debonair look like a jackass and the disrespect he’s been showing me is immeasurable right now.”
Abe: ”He’s your son, Fred.”
Fred jumps off the hood of the car, almost spilling his coffee, facing Abe.
Fred: ”Exactly! More reason why he deserves to get his! People seeing some punk disrespecting his own father, what kind of message does that send? I’m pretty sure IIW already has a slew of people just laughing at Fred Debonair right now… Well they’ll be laughing on the other side of their faces soon enough.”
Abe: ”And that started with The Excellence, last week.”
Fred: ”Oh no, Zabian and Jermaine got the easy way out when Tyler took me away from that battle; they’ve not even paid half the toll yet! They’ll get theirs though, don’t worry about that. But examples have to be set here and they have to be done as soon as the objective is made, not weeks or even months after.”
Abe: ”Well I hear that, so next? You going for Crush and that UK belt he holds?”
Fred: ”I will be… That guy was on a roll when he first arrived in IIW, but it was nothing more than a purple patch. And since then he’s been distracted by this guy, PG-13… His brother apparently and they’ve been doing nothing but going back and forth with each other so I need to rectify this situation and bring Crush’s attention back to the IIW property he’s got around his waist because the way I see it, he needs a real challenge.”
Abe: ”So would I be right in thinking that the next target is PG-13?”
Fred: ”You most certainly would. This individual has some kind of God complex going on, appears to believe himself untouchable, but that will most definitely change soon enough. The guy is over six and a half foot tall and is a behemoth of a monster and I’m not sure if he has given himself some kind of unwarranted belief that he’s unbeatable or people he’s surrounded himself have done it to him, but I’m going to take him down a peg or two on Mayhem…”
Abe: ”You say he’s this Crush’s brother? So what’s with the hostilities between them?”
Fred: ”Typical sibling envy would be my guess… From doing my research to previous promotions these guys were in, Crush was apparently favoured more than PG and thereby caused the jealousy, the envy, the bitterness… To put it bluntly, that big giant became a goddamn crybaby! He’s soft a shit with a messiah compound nesting in his cranium… It seems he’s a carbon copy of his younger brother, he’s completely ripped his style except that Crush is “a good guy” and Peej is the complete opposite.”
Abe: ”Well, this is an origin story waiting to be optioned by the bigwigs of Hollywood, you wanna take a drive now? You can draft up a plot synopsis and script before we even get there!”
Fred laughs at Abe, as he takes a sip of his coffee. Shaking his head in the negative he swallows the glorious caffeinated substance in his mouth and opens the car door, cracking the glove compartment open as he finishes the last of his bagel. He pulls a small tin from the glove compartment and opens it up, revealing around eight pre-rolled joints and hands one to Abe. Pulling out a lighter, Fred lights both of them taking a drag on his own and inhaling sharply.
Fred: ”Oh the script is already written by bearded, Jewish companion. What comes next for PG-13 and by proxy Crush, isn’t just a foretold story for the ages, it’s also a tale of vengeance, revenge and straight up expelling of frustration… You see this scenario with PG-13 and Crush reminds me exactly of how Tyler has been with me… And that pisses me off, so now PG, Crush and anybody else who feels like they want to get in the way of TWC, of CCPE… They've got some time to reconsider, otherwise they may want to be booking themselves into a medical facility like Tyler and then calling in sick for a few months at the very least! This son of a bitch apparently once broke Crush’s neck and I’ve been informed his “sole purpose” for the remainder of his days in Wrestling is to end Crush’s career and that of anybody else who he steps into the ring with… Well, heh, his plans are going to have to change.
It’s funny though because I was quite certain that I was facing PG-13 this week on Mayhem, at least that’s what the show card Shaun gave me had listed; but I’m becoming a little confused at who is who, with he and Crush because they’re so alike. I mean, I was sat down in my house the other day just before their match together and I was eating some cereal and wasn’t looking up at the TV and I heard the promo and I was expecting to see Crush, but no! It was PG-13… I was stunned to say the least, I can tell you man. I was shook! I closed my eyes and there he was again, but then I kind of worked out the difference, one is loved by the fans and the other likes to think he’s some psychotic evil mastermind but really he’s just playing make believe and he’ll soon get found out!”
Abe: ”I’ve also noticed that their promos are very similar, it’s very hard to tell them apart if you aren’t paying attention…”
Fred takes another toke of his joint and blows out the skoke after inhaling and keeping it in for a bit, he coughs politely and both he and Abe share a chuckle. Fred takes a mouthful of his coffee, walking a little toward the mountain edge, in thought.
Fred: ”I mean, I know they aren’t twins or anything but it’s as if they share some kind of hive mind, it’s a little like Harry Potter and Voldemort where he puts himself as a Horcrux inside Harry’s scar and knows exactly what he’s thinking, what he’s doing, what promotion he’s in! But then the same can be said for Crush too. It’s scarily logical if you think about it though! Actually no, I wouldn’t really call it a “hive mind” it’s more like there’s just one brain between the two of them! No, even more specific, two brain cells! That’s it, it’s as if Crush and Peej share two brain cells between them! And one by one, when I meet each of them in the ring beginning with PG-13 this Mayhem, I will disassemble those brain cells! And then they’ll act as dumb as the two of them look!
You know though, Abe… I honestly believe this guys brains are absolutely fried… Either that or Fred Debonair has really put the scare boots into him. I was sitting at home watching he and Crush chat the most atrocious shit about one another and their little promos, shoots and the two things were over in less than a few minutes… Someone told me he’d been speaking about me and my match with him recently so I went onto the web to check it out and got told only part one of the series was free but I’d have to subscribe to the site to watch parts two through to forty-seven… I don’t get how you can talk so little, about a title match against your brother of all people and yet, when it comes to facing off against someone like yours truly, the word vomit really comes flying out of your mouth… You know?!”
Fred finishes the rest of his coffee and dumps the empty cup into a nearby trash can, throwing the remnants of his spliff onto the floor and stepping on it, whilst Abe drags on the last embers of his own.
Abe: ”It seems to me, Fred, that you feel Mr. 13, is speaking way above his station, or beyond his means…”
Fred: ”Well that would be an understatement. I mean by the Gods, man! This ginormous basset hound just will not shut up! I mean literally he told Crush that stepping foot into the ring with him is not like stepping foot into the ring with anybody else, course it’s not! Stepping foot inside the ring with him is like waking up and finding yourself in the land of the giants like Gulliver! But that’s neither here nor there, what I found interesting is that PG-13 harps on about how those who face him tend to end up with broken bones, well I can almost guarantee I’ll end up with broken bones, when I face him! His, in my hands! His, laid up all around me on the canvas… For you see, PG-13 loves to talk a good game; he loves to spit dead rhetoric about how it’s unlike anything else when people step into the ring with him, well that may be for those who’ve never Wrestled in their lives but for me? Someone who has been doing this for over quarter of a century, this guy is a dime a dozen! I faced “brutes” like this, almost every other weekend! He’s absolutely nothing special!
But it’s pretty obvious that Mr. Big, PG-13 is paying attention, Abe… Pretty obvious indeed when this guy has suddenly begun to actually give a rats ass, about this game! It took the fact he was booked against Fred Debonair for him to sit up and take notice! It took my name being on that card opposite his, has actually woken him up and motivated him! Something his own brother wasn’t able to do, before the match at least…”
Abe: ”And, what if it’s just a case of waking a sleeping giant, Fred? What if he likes his actions to speak louder than his words?”
Fred: ”If that were the case brother, he wouldn’t have been shouting his mouth off about Fred Debonair and trying to convince himself that he’s going to do to me, the things he’s done to others who’ve stood before him. Because aside from the fact I’m nothing like those guys, he’s only had four matches in IIW and barely had a sample! Barely had a taste of what’s to come… He beat three no marks in his debut, he managed to follow that up with a win against Anthony Phoenix, but let’s be honest Tyler has done that! But then, then he stepped into the ring with John Cavanagh and that man, got dropped like a bad habit, not only did he get dropped, Abe he was made to tap!
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Fred Debonair is nothing like John Cavanagh, he’s nothing like John Tolly, or even Crush and PG-13 needs to realise this before he chooses to open his mouth again… He may have a height advantage on me, he may have a slight weight advantage on me and I do mean slight but that’s all he’s got, because the real strength comes from the mind and I’ve got the smarts that’ll show him up for the pansy-ass cosplayer he is!
I even heard him chatting shit before stepping into the ring with Crush a couple of weeks ago and it appears he likes to just… Pretend, that his opposition and matches with those people don’t exist, if he loses it. You’ll never do that with me, because PG-13 you’re about to step into an X-Rated scenario, I mean I’m not even talking about your stereotypical blood and gore with some curse words thrown in R-Rated shit, nah screw that brother, this is some extremely messed up shit you’re about to get yourself into. This is a world you won’t ever escape from; or unsee.”
Fred pulls another joint from his tin and passing it to Abe, before picking out one for himself and lighting it. He takes a huge puff, holding it in his lungs before closing his eyes as he exhales.
Fred: ”The truth of the matter is simple, the man is so far out of his depth it’s unreal, but his thick as pigshit head won’t allow him to see it. What’s the saying? All brawn no brains or something…? That literally epitomises this man! I can picture him trawling around outside the arena ‘durr durr, must find Fred Debonair durrrr must fight him beeeeerrrrr durdurdur.’ He’s like Frankenstein’s Monster whilst Crush probably sees himself as Doctor Frankenstein and having created PG-13 or some such nonsense, but it riles me up inside having this guy walking around with that specific mindset because it’ll end up badly for everybody involved.
PG-13 talks a lot without saying much at all and that’s okay, because it isn’t about talking. The talking can be done at any time, but matches aren’t won by talking shit! Titles aren’t won by the words coming out of your mouth. You have to put what you say into action, you have to take it to the next level and you have to back up the words that you speak… I think Peej likes to use his stature as intimidation or something, probably hopes that once people see what he looks like, they’ll reject the match, or pretend it was never booked; kind of like PG-13 did with his match against John Cavanagh and what he’ll done once we fix up… But I can imagine him face palming himself when he realises he has to go through with the match… Then he spends hours in the mens room, throwing up from both ends, getting the fear sweats and praying to whatever diety he follows on Instagram, the match gets called off… Not this time pal.
No, this time PG-13, you’re facing Fred Debonair. You’re facing The Original, the Sole Schematic! You’re facing somebody who made this industry what it is and if you think you’re someone people recognise now… Just wait until you step into the ring with me. Your name will forever be synonymous with greatness, you had a match with Fred Debonair; you lost it of course… But you had it! Your grandkids if you indeed have any, will be asking you to regale them with the story of that night in Anaheim, California where PG-13 got reduced to U for unworthy, for unable to compete, for utterly useless! Then you can show them your walking frame…”
Fred takes another toke of the blunt and climbs into his rental. He bumps fists with Abe who takes to his SUV as the two gun their engines and begin to peel away, from the site…
Tuesday, August 16th, 2022. - Cedars Sinai Medical Center, Los Angeles.
… He stands at the bottom of the hospital bed, unmoving and unphased, a shadow lingering… Tyler Debonair stirs in the bed, groaning in a little pain as he tries to roll onto his side, waking when he realises he can’t. Slightly panicked as he notices his wrists in restraints; he looks up and the panic turns to anger as the shadow becomes Fred Debonair.
Fred: ”Don't worry, I’m not going to do anything to you son… Not now at least. Those restraints are for your own protection. Doctor Hankem thinks you’ll need them for a while. Oh, that’s right I forgot to say; he’s re-assessing you, Tyler. Doesn’t look like you’ll be making Mayhem this week or, for the foreseeable to be honest. But hey… When you do, I’ll be waiting.”
…TBC…
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Post by Devlin Knight. on Aug 20, 2022 22:45:05 GMT
Wednesday, August 17th, 2022 - John Wayne Airport, Santa Ana, CA.
The rare light splatters of raindrops hit the Learjet as it begins to park up on this balmy Wednesday evening. The clouds are slowly beginning to break after what was quite a downpour earlier in the day, one which said Learjet, known as Debonair-One, was in for most of the journey. The engine comes to a stop as the door opens and Fred pokes his head out, looking around the hanger. He drops down three steps, luggage in hand, turns and takes Aurora’s bag then her hand as she follows him out of the jet and back onto the ground.
Fred: ”I wanted to grab a rental, but Héctor says he’s got a limo waiting for us, out front. He said there’s going to be some stuff there about KCW, what to expect and so on… Exit’s over here”
Aurora: ”That’s really nice of you, to do your friend this favour and turn up at his promotion like this, babe.”
Fred: ”I mean you could say that, but Hec’s doing me a favour too. I’m going into my match with PG-13 and he’s allowing me to say my piece to a camera, with people listening. I’m guessing we’re sold out for Mayhem anyway but if we’re not, this will definitely put those asses in seats when they hear me speak. Besides I know there’s oldschool fans out there who’ve been waiting to see me in action again for a long while, they’ll want Peej to break me into a million pieces but it’ll still be me they want to see in action, nobody else. Well Page and York, TWC in general but I put names on tickets, asses in seats and names household, wherever I go!”
Fred shakes hands with the limo driver as they approach their ride. He gives him the bags, then he and Aurora climb into vehicle. Fred grabs a glass he notices racked up beside him and a bottle of whiskey beside it. He clicks open the mini fridge and drops a couple of Ice cubes into the glass and pours straight. He hands it to Aurora then does the same for himself as he hears the drivers door shut and the engine kick to life; before they pull away.
Aurora: ”So what’s the deal here? We get to the hotel tonight, go out for some dinner, then tomorrow we go to this promotion and are you on the card taking someone on or?”
Fred: ”Not exactly, he’s got a spot lined up for me to just plug IIW really, whilst getting my point across to PG-13, Crush and whoever else…”
Aurora: ”That’s pretty cool, so I might not have heard you earlier, did you say where he’d put us up or?”
Fred: ”No, I didn’t… It’s all here, so apparently we’re staying in the… That can’t be right…”
Aurora: ”What? What’s wrong?”
Fred: ”He’s put us up at the Disney's Grand Californian Hotel & Spa!”
Fred chucks the papers and leaflets toward Aurora who has a huge smile on her face, as he pulls his cellphone out.
Aurora: ”Disney?! Really?! With like Micky, Minnie, Donald, Daisy, Goofy, Pluto and all those?! Wait… You don’t look happy, Fred. Why are you not happy…?”
Fred: ”Because this can only mean one thing… Yep, I figured as much!”
Fred hands Aurora another leaflet, this one about Killer Cali Wrestling. She reads it, giggling to herself as the phone is answered on the other end of Fred’s cell.
Fred: ”Héctor?! It’s Fred… Man your Wrestling promotion works out of FREAKING DISNEYLAND?! And you forgot to mention this?!”
The sound seems to dissipate as Fred continues to talk to Héctor Garcia on the other end of the phone, Aurora still smirking and giggling at the situation. The scene slowly fades out as the limo pulls into the Disneyland resort…
… We reopen in the Napa Rose restaurant, of Disney's Grand Californian Hotel & Spa. Fred is sat with Aurora, Héctor Garcia and his wife at a table by the window. Outside the rides and experiences are still going, families are chattering and screaming. Fred is tucking into a plate of Spicy Beef, Lobster-Shrimp Fritters and Coconut Vinaigrette known as a “Smiling Tiger Salad”, he however isn’t smiling. Héctor sips on his rosé wine before dabbing his mouth and raising an eyebrow at Fred.
Héctor: ”Are you really pissed, Fred? What’s the problem?”
Fred: ”Problem, Hec? No problem man… Other than the fact you neglected to tell me that you run a Wrestling Promotion, which you want me to make an appearance at, IN DISNEYLAND!”
Héctor: ”So again, I ask… What’s the issue?”
Fred: ”I honestly feel right now, the only people who can remotely understand where I’m coming from, are Page and Thad… Héctor your promotion is MAKE BELIEVE!”
Héctor: ”Okay so, it isn’t RWF, but these guys still train bro! They still do the same moves, take the same bumps…”
Fred: ”But you know as well as I do, Hec, there’s no intensity there! There's no animosity that gets the blood boiling, no historical warfare! You won’t catch me beating down Curtis or my own son, then taking them for a beer afterwards you know??”
There is a little awkward silence, before Héctor makes a sad face as he pulls a piece of paper from his pocket. Fred’s face softens as he begins to write on the paper, Fred puts his hand over Héctor’s.
Fred: ”Man, don’t you even think about writing numbers down on that paper! Look, I’m sorry if I offended you, G. I really am, it’s just not what I’ve ever thought I’d be doing.”
Héctor: ”You?! Bro look at me! Honestly man I get it, I do and I’m not offended my friend, I’m just kinda disappointed in you…”
Fred: ”C’mon man! Disappointed is worse than offended…”
Héctor: ”No esse, it’s cool honestly! Do you know how many of our old RWF buddies I asked to do this, before you?”
Fred: ”Well, no…? Because I’m not sure you’d have spoken to Car…-“
Héctor: ”None, Fred! The answer is none! Because after I had my career ending injury, the only people who ever checked in on me and had my back were you, Riley and Mike! I just figured you may have had it now, too…”
Fred sighs, smiles softly and pats Héctor on the shoulder before sitting back and extending his arms.
Fred: ”Brother, Fred Debonair is at your disposal!”
Héctor’s faces changes from one of sadness to a huge grin and he and Fred bump fists as the waiters begin to bring the main dishes. Aurora leans in as Fred sticks his fork into his Grilled Prime Filet Mignon.
Aurora: ”See? Good guy…”
Fred: ”Mmhmm… See? Loyalty.”
Fred and Aurora smile at one another as they tuck into their meals and the conversations churn out, as if there had never been any indication Fred wasn’t happy being the villain in a Disneyland panto and the scene slowly begins to disintegrate into the ether…
Thursday, August 18th, 2022 - Disneyland, Anaheim, CA.
The crowd of people, both those staying at the theme park and those there just for the day, are sat and stood around the KCW ring. Inside two big, generic Wrestlers are going at it inside the ring. Leading to the ring is a ramp, that is connected to a stage and behind it, stand Fred, Aurora and Héctor.
Héctor: ”Okay, Fred. Goggs, the heel in the black pants will job out to Squirrel Dude…”
Fred cringes at Héctor using the phrase “job out”, but he continues to listen intently.
Héctor: ”Squirrel’s music will hit, you’ll run down the aisle, couple of shots to the jaw and a clothesline to the outside, take the mic and do what you need to do!”
Squirrel Dude’s music hits, Fred smirks at Héctor, gives Aurora a kiss and exits through the curtain. The majority of the crowd boo intensely as soon as they see Fred Debonair, but some cheer, given as he’s still a home-state boy. He rolls into the ring behind Squirrel Dude who turns around and feigns shock. Fred suddenly kicks him in the gut and nails him with a DDT!
Aurora: ”Erm, I’m pretty sure that’s not what you just said for him to do?”
Héctor: ”That is not what I said for him to do… Jesus Fred!”
Fred asks for a microphone and snatches it from the ring announcer, as the boos become even louder. He paces the ring, stops and looks around.
Fred: ”AND HERE - I - AM! Now, Squirrel Dude, you’ll have to forgive me for the way… No, no…”
Fred stops and places a hand over his face, massaging his eyes and the bridge of his nose, with his thumb and forefinger.
Héctor:”Uh-oh…”
Aurora: ”What uh-oh? Why uh-oh?”
Héctor: “I know that look… This is either going to go really well, or I’m about to get fired. He’s going off book…”
Fred paces again, wagging his finger as he looks around.
Fred: ”Ok if you are all at a Wrestling show then you’ll know who I am and the fact that I don’t sugar coat anything! Now Héctor asked me to come here tonight, told me to check out Killer Cali Wrestling! And you know it always pleasantly surprises me, that whenever I’m in Los Angeles I never actually see any fat or ugly people… UNTIL NOW! You guys absolutely disgust me! Oh you can boo all you want, I really don’t give a rats ass! I came here to do an old friend a favour but honestly? You lot don’t deserve to see me! To see THIS! I am the blueprint for Professional Wrestling and I agreed to give my time FREE for this?! Whilst on Monday I’ll be stepping into a proper Wrestling ring, against a proper opponent! Well, kind of I guess!
For you see, on Monday I’m going to be setting foot in the ring on Mayhem against this guy that calls himself “PG-13” in reality his name is Michael Huttman and he is absolutely nothing exceptional! You know I made reference to this guy playing make believe and he and his PR merchants of representatives or whatever the hell they, proved me spot-on right when they went to the depths and beyond to spread some seed about Huttman being this absolute psychotic badass destroying these thugs in the middle of an alleyway, in Atlanta. Whoop-Dee-fucking-Doo, Michael! You think this makes you special brother?? Do you think this makes you untouchable? You might be tall, my friend; you might be bulky but as the saying goes, the bigger they are, the harder they fall! And this, this directly correlates with you my friend, down to the bags under your eyes and that scar on your forehead…
Now Huttman, I’m really not sure who you’ve been getting to do your homework for you, before you decided to run your mouth about Fred Debonair but I would either fire or whoop their ass, brother. Firstly you want to repeat yourself anymore son?! You’re sitting there telling people that it doesn’t matter who steps in front of you they’ll fall like the rest, over and over again! The same old lines when it suits of course, but when a result doesn’t fit into your “invincible” narrative it just seems to ‘poof’ right? But let me explain something to you, your first mistake was thinking I cared enough about you, to make anything involving you be remotely connected to my destiny; Huttman! I don’t give you a second thought, you just happen to be an obstacle in the way of me taking your brothers United Kingdom Title! He’s got an obsession with you… Like he had an obsession with that ECE Title!”
Fred paces the ring, as the crowd boos even louder, with some mingles cheers for the Los Angeles leader. He throws a quick glance toward the back, knowing Héctor and Aurora are hooked, he can even sense the huge grin on Héctor’s face as he leans against a turnbuckle.
Fred: ”And speaking of that ECE belt you just happened to win from Crush the other week, what does that even represent, Michael?! I mean I’ll be honest you and Crush are the only people who’ve ever even spoken about ECE, man! I’ve never even heard of this promotion you’re supposed to be the Champion of! I’ve looked everywhere, even had Shaun Hart run a quick DuckDuckGo search on it, as we all know Google is shit, but even that pulled up nothing… So you’re even playing make believe at being a damn Champion too! They ended the billing to the match between us, with “who will win when these two Champions collide?” But that’s just a sham! There’s only one Champion between us here! You appear to have a few belts under your… Well belt, but nothing meaningful Michael and even your resume here in IIW is pitiful son! Your only proper match that wasn’t to Crush was a… Say it with me… LOSS!
As I said I’d be taking out wherever the hell did your research for you, Michael, maybe you shouldn’t be such a lazy son of a bitch eh?! You say Fred Debonair grew up with everything?! You say Fred Debonair was a spoiled brat who had it EASY!! Son I grew up in Hell’s Kitchen with a mom who was sick for most of my childhood and a dad who, whilst he did a good job at keeping my family safe and well, could barely rub two sticks together! I lost my brother to drugs at an early age and spent most of my life running errands and being a “family” man in Clinton and if you know, you know! But Fred Debonair isn’t here to bring sob stories to the table because that’s weakness! I get up every damn morning and I roll with it, attention seeking is not my way forward, I’m just letting you know, not to let bad information sway the way you think this match is gonna go, hoss! I run one of the biggest business enterprises in North America, I own three houses, two Yachts, a private jet and am a lifelong member of CCPE! And none of that was because my life was easy. Quite the opposite!
What this has done now has exposed you, Michael… Because you’re sitting there making excuses for why you hang around in syringe filled ghettos, with nothing to show for your life but this obsession for beating people up, whereas I probably had a worse life than you and yet here I am, at my age still the guy every man wants to be and every woman wants to be with! You think I had a seat reserved in the Wrestling industry? I left home with a pair of sneakers, training shorts and less than five dollars in my pocket and traveled the entire eastern seaboard finding a school that would take me. I MADE my road, I EARNED my notches… You want to blame someone for your hardships, Michael? Look in the mirror! Part of me is convinced you’re confusing me with someone else and I’ll let that slide, you’d just better not get me confused when we meet Sunday, brother, or it will not be good for you!”
Fred begins pacing again with the reception still being one of negativity towards Fred, but still with the odd cheer and chant mixed in. Fred looks down then back up as he looks around at the crowd of mainly children…
Fred: ”And you see this is where the issue lies with you, Huttman. Why do I walk around acting like I’m the Champion here?! Because I pretty much am! I may not yet be the United Kingdom Champion, International Champion, or World Champion… But I will be and currently I am one half of the IIW Tag-Team Champions! Whereas you? You’re just like one of those kids who used to run around the schoolyard with his replica belt the day after being taken to a Wrestling event by his parents! You claim that Fred Debonair has done “fuck all” in the world of Wrestling? Son, my name has been synonymous with the game since the late nintees! Ask anybody who Fred Debonair is and you’ll get a collective gasp and a slap for even having to ask! Ask anyone who PG-13 is and the best you’ll get is a schedule for the local movie theatre!
So, I’m just another statistic, am I Michael? I’m now on your radar? I’m your target? No! You see what has happened is this, Michael… I hadn’t even had to open my mouth and already I’ve got you gurning for more! You say you’re going to hit me harder than a drug addiction? My friend, I’ve already become yours! Look at how out of pocket, how out of tune you’ve become just because you were made aware that you were going to step into the ring; with Fred Debonair! You claim I’m nothing, a nobody? Yet I bud nobody has sure as hell got under your skin and got you rattled before he’s even opened his mouth, hasn’t he Huttman?? This nobody has already set a fire under your canopy and you just don’t know what to do about it, do you? You’re acting like you’ve been bitten by something, bitten and it’s making you itch, it’s making your hands burn. You can’t sit still, can you Michael but you aren’t sure why. I’ll tell you hoss; it’s because you know you’re having to face… Me.
Oh Mike, I’m not stupid brother, au contraire, I’ve already seen what you’re about. I’ve already been paying attention but as I said, I know I’ve got no chance of Crush knuckling down and getting serious about defending the IIW UK Championship without you, out of the picture and that is why this match is happening on Monday night. That is why I asked for this match to be placed on the card… This has nothing to do with you, son, I’ve told you this… You? You’re not that special… But you see you have already lost this match don’t you, Mike? Why, how, you’re asking yourself and the answer is pretty obvious. Go back and watch the way you speak man, the way your composure is just shot to shit but of course you’ll say you don’t care you’re just going to run through me blah blah blah! But I think deep down you realise that this match, is going to take more out of you and more from you, than any other match you’ve had in your lifetime…
Fred jogs up a turnbuckle and turns, sitting on it as he waves his arm around.
Fred: ”You know I look around Disneyland and I see the likes of Micky, Minnie, the usual. But then I see Boba Fett, Solo, Iron Man, Hulk… But I can’t help but think the biggest costumed buffoon of them all, would be PG-13! I mean the name even sounds like someone trying to be slightly menacing and managing nothing but stifled snickers from nine year old boys, playing with their older brothers action figures… You asked if I’d heard of Revelations 13:5, Michael… But of course, the real question however is have you heard of Micah 13:5? I think it’s a little more pertinent… I will destroy your idols and your sacred stones from among you; you will no longer bow down to the work of your hands. Once you’ve figured this out, Huttman, get back to me and we can talk.
I mentioned when I first came out here, about your little PR stunt with the thugs and I told you about where I’ve come from. Do you think it worries me when you say stuff like, “look at what happened to this man, because he spoke down to me”?! Of course it doesn’t because he was like what? A crisis Actor and I’m Fred Debonair, one of the greatest Wrestlers to have ever lived! I will speak to you, however I see fit son! Because the way I see it, it’s not speaking down to you, it’s speaking proportionate to how you wanna bring yourself! You want to act a fool? You’ll get spoken to, like a fool. You want to talk about putting me down with “The Revelation”? How about I shut your mouth by sending you reeling with the Enigma Divide? Maybe drop your clogs when providing you with a God Complex? You see I can speak words too; Mike, I just prefer to do my talking inside the ring.
And Michael Hill?! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! Son I don’t know you and I have no business with you, but if you want to be involved in this match come Monday too, I can make room for you pal?! You clearly don’t know who you’re talking to either because it sounded like you just told one of the most decorated men in the business for the last quarter of a century that he was in Michael Huttman territory?? You’re telling a multiple time Champion of Multiple promotions; that the ring belongs to your guy! Brother you’re not even original, you’ve even taken this guys name and last initial, fix up!”
Even the crowd had to laugh at the last line. Fred drops off the turnbuckle and paces again, raising the microphone as he does, Héctor and Aurora behind the curtain slapping each other high fives.
Fred: ”I’ll be honest, Michael, I tried so hard to pay attention to your rant, on my way over to Anaheim in my private jet but genuinely I just kept hearing the same shit over and over and over again! You talking about how you’re not here to be light and fluffy, how you’re here to beat up and destroy people, how you’ve got no filter basically and you’re just around to do damage… And I just kept wondering who the fuck you pay to write your speeches for you, bro? Whoever it is will definitely not be getting on any staff for any President or someone who’s running, that’s for sure! There’s a reason I’m called The Original, Mike… There’s a reason I’m called the Sole Schematic! And that is because no matter how far and wide you look, no matter how much you concentrate, you’ll only ever find one of me! Whereas you? I said it the other day and I’ll say it again, dime-a-dozen! You just roll off the conveyer belt at the ACME evil wrestler factory one after the other!
I can’t even begin to count the amount of times I’ve dealt with opposition like you, Huttman. I’d start on all twenty of my digits and could even move on, to the three fingers on each of your hands and would very likely lose count! You’re too… Samey! I’d consider changing it up a bit brother as you’re somewhat outdated. Grrr I’M A BEAST! No you’re not you pussy! RRRRRAW I’M THE REAL FUCKING DEAL… Nope! You’re just a carbon copy of every other walking nightmare cliche “heel” promotions like this freaking circus have! In fact! I know the owner of this lovely establishment; they could do with another big dumb jock for their collection, you looking for a gig? Because God knows you’ll need one when I’m done with you, son…
I already asked who Michael Hill is, I can’t work it out still. Are you supposed to be Mike’s agent? His PR guy? His PA? His unpaid intern? Something else entirely even I won’t subject these kids to?! Do tell me man, because you say PG-13 is this, he’s that, he’s the other when all PG-13 is, is some kind of ratings films get when they’re okay to watch but probably better for you, if you’ve got parents around too… Make it make sense! The only thing I can think of, as to why he wants to run around calling himself something like that, is because kids have been told they need parental guidance when in his vicinity! No I’m kidding, even I wouldn’t stoop so low… Nah, I would! I’ll say something for you though, Hill, you’re doing an exceptional job buddy! You’re really making your “client” seem scary! Intimidating! Imposing! Problem is, you’re not doing it to the person that matters, me… You know it’s funny you mention him being at ECE when Fred Debonair has been making his mark.”
Fred sits on the floor in the centre of the ring, he closes his eyes, almost nodding off or as if he’s stoned and continues to talk.
Fred: ”One thing I have noticed with Huttman is how he has all this energy ready to just flail about, when he first starts chatting so much bullshit but it all just seems to die a horrible death when it comes down to the nitty gritty?! I guess you kind of find it hard to say anything when you’ve already said the same thing half a dozen times, eh?! I mean look what you’ve reduced me to man! Sat here in some dingy ring in freakin’ Disneyland, almost asleep! I mean Michael Hill even made some comments about what I say, how I speak… Understand something both of you, it takes SKILL to be able to talk the talk and walk the walk, something Huttman has not been able to achieve apparently! To be able to run your mouth as much as you do AND keep it fresh and entertaining is a talent; something you’ve yet to master. I mean you’ve seen your brother fall at these hurdles and here you are doing the same thing?!
So let’s summise, shall we boys? Fred Debonair has a target on his chest, Fred Debonair has gotten himself on Michael Huttman’s radar, Fred Debonair had it easy and his life was mapped out for him, Fred Debonair has zero chance against a man who’s done several different things in his lifetime, Fred Debonair has chosen death and decimation by asking for this match, with PG-13. Does that about sum it up Michael? Michael? Does that about state where we’re at with all this? Because these are the things I heard you both spouting over and over again! Repetitive words for repetitive actions and no doubt repetitive strain injury for the both of you! And do you know what else causes repetitive strain injury?! Well, as I said there are children present so I’ll just leave that one for your feeble little brains to compute…
Honestly I watched your first little “promo” or whatever the hell you wanted to call it, Mike and I think you exchanged ECE for PCP fucks sake! I’ve done Peyote trips in my lifetime but you were on something else! You know what you sounded like brother? You sounded like when someone’s on the phone to that girl or guy they really like until like three in the morning and they just start saying some garbled shit without half a clue of what they’re saying themselves! This is what I got from watching you trip balls, by the looks! And don’t you worry about CCPE either you big dumb broad! Yes I said what I said, but Page and the rest of the guys won’t be out there, I don’t need them to shut you down, son. You’ll never see me coming, Michael… That’s the important take you’ve got to have through all this brother! You’ve been worrying too much about how confident I might be, yet didn’t realise your own arrogance was showing through. You, will never see me coming!”
Fred stands himself up and leans against the ropes, a look of seriousness crossing his face.
Fred: ”So I’m “weak” and you’re the only “big fucking deal” in IIW despite doing absolutely… ZERO, since walking through the company doors, right? No what you are is a big fucking nuisance son! You’re an irritability, a liability… A gnat that’s about to be swatted! I mean shit, even people like your new lawyer friend don’t seem to know who I am… I’m Fred Debonair, who the hell is “Mr. Jindtrak” son? It’s like you’re making these same shady deals everywhere whilst pretending you don’t know the guy and he got confused with who your “mark” was this time! That’s the bad thing about PR. You weave so many webs when you lie. So many routes you could have taken and you’ve chosen the rinse and repeat option?! Pitiful hoss, very pitiful. So I’m assuming you battered a thug, got down with a lawyer representing a film company, purchased a watch… All for your last opponent too, right? And probably the one before that, right? I’ve figured you out son… Well and truly! Well, here’s some symbolism for you Mike… Here’s your radar.”
Fred sticks up a middle finger…
Fred: ”And here’s your target…”
Fred flips his other middle finger along with the first, before dropping the microphone and rolling out of the ring as Pink Floyd’s “Money” smashes through the speaker system. He walks up the ramp, smirk on his face waiting to get to the back and Aurora.
/Fin.
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