Post by Dave on Apr 20, 2016 14:57:03 GMT
ON CAMERA
March 27th, immediately following GOL’s Chapter Uno
Camera crew approaches the locker room area slowly. There’s only one man left sitting on the bench, still in his wrestling gear and with a towel over his head, and that man is D.C. Wiland. The winner of GOL’s first ever main event looks at the camera, his face still covered in blood and bruises after meeting the explosive parts of the cage.
“Well I… I gotta give it to ya,” he says, breathing heavily. “That was a fucking crazy ride. My face damn near exploded, I was this close to blowing my knee all out at the finish of the match, so I have no idea how am I gonna wrestle in the UK tomorrow… but you know what?”
He smirks.
“I still got the win. Just like I told you. And after all the abuse from whoever the fuck runs the Twitter account of this place, and from the fans, and from just about anybody in Guerreros of Lucha.. you all finally see what I’ve been presenting you since the day I signed the contract. D.C. Wiland is the best on the roster. Me and Tiger Mask Red… we are running this place. That means The Usual Rudos are taking home the Super Falcon Cup AND the Rey de Reyes title… and there’s a big fat zero in the column of things you can do about it. See you on May 1st, fuckfaces.”
He throws his towel at the camera as the scene fades.
OFF CAMERA
April 18th
“Thundercunt?”
“Indeed.”
“Thunder–“
“Yes.”
“–cunt.”
“Yes, Derrick. Is that so hard to understand?” D.C. Wiland asks his brother. The two are sitting by a table in a corner of a nice restaurant, enjoying coffee after lunch. Derrick, very much a world traveller, is in town for a while, so he took up the opportunity to take his big brother for lunch… and ask him about the questionable names of events he is booked at.
“Listen, Frank… You explained why the hell you took up the opportunity to wrestle in Nigeria of all places. And I won’t ask questions about that anymore, alright? But… Thundercunt? Who the hell names their events like Thundercunt?” Derrick asks again.
“The guys in Guerreros of Lucha, apparently,” D.C. answers surprisingly calmly, taking a sip of his espresso. “Seriously man, you’re so whiny. Every place is weird, every name is weird–“
“Maybe that’s why I am on a hiatus with zero bookings and you’re booked left and right.”
“You just burned yourself, brother. But yeah, I totally think it’s one of the reasons.”
Derrick chuckles to himself.
“So… what are you in for this time? After that Exploding–“
“Shush. Never talk about that again. And as for your question, I am in two tournaments. One for the title, one for… I dunno, bragging rights? Promotion supremacy? The fun of kicking people’s asses? Something like that. Needless to say, I’m planning on winning both of those. World domination, brother… World domination.”
Derrick laughs, and his laughter echoes so much it turns the heads of a few people in the restaurant.
“Fuck off, I’m serious,” D.C. snaps at his younger brother. “I can’t believe that after all that time, I am the one who takes wrestling seriously. You were the big time strong style dude, and you failed and left your wrestling career. And I, the guy who everyone considered a doofus, became a world champion, and I’m gonna do it again. You can laugh all you can, but when I stick another world championship in your face, you’ll finally shut up!”
The younger of the Wiland brothers remains silent.
“Now finish your fucking coffee,” D.C. barks as he downs his espresso, throws a few bucks on the table and leaves the place.
ON CAMERA
April 19th – afternoon
“And representing Pollomania… Dee… Cee… Wiland,” The Main Man says slowly as we see the beginning seconds of his promotional video. He is dressed sharply, sporting a tailor-made suit and an artistic wooden bowtie. The Pollomania Golden Egg Championship, though not his, is resting on his shoulder. He is standing in front of a big Guerreros of Lucha banner, presumably spread over a wall in his training place.
“Funny, isn’t it? Representing Pollomania… after how they treated me,” he scoffs. “I gave them something no one else could give. A well traveled, world famous wrestling superstar that can carry the promotion to new heights, to pastures greener than it has ever seen. A man who can do all that, if he has the Pollomania Supremo Championship. But they decided to screw me over. Instead of rightfully restarting the match for the Golden Egg Championship, the golden ticket on one’s way to the Supremo title, they considered that fluke win by my opponent as a legitimate one and now, they are calling her the champion instead of me. That grinds my gears… not to mention the said opponent is La Cucaracha, a young woman I’ve already beaten and embarrassed… and I am willing to do that again, and again, as many times as the people need, until they finally see that there is no one else better and more deserving of the praise and championship glory than myself.”
Wiland glances at the title belt and polishes it quickly with his sleeve before turning his focus back on the camera.
“I could just take this championship title, that is RIGHTFULLY mine, and take it with me somewhere else, leaving Pollomania never to return, finding a new home… all that jazz. And I would have genuinely every right to do so. But I won’t. Instead, I’m gonna do something that I do every single day of my life, every time I come across an opponent, an envious person, a stubborn bureaucrat, or an everyday idiot – I’m gonna be the better man.
That, in this case, means that after all the tricks Pollomania has pulled on me, after all the overweight superheroes and fourth-wall-breaking insects it has thrown in front of me, I will still represent it with my head held high. And when I win the Super Falcon Cup AND the tournament to crown the first ever Rey de Reyes Champion, and bring all that gold back to whichever city Pollomania will be running on that day, they will go – ‘Oh fuck. We really dropped the ball with his guy when we had him have meaningless matches with the likes of Owl Man instead of putting him in the title hunt the very second he walked through our door.’
The road to that very moment, to that satisfaction, starts May 1st, at Guerreros of Lucha and their second chapter.”
He adjusts the title on his shoulder before continuing.
“I believe that at Rise of the Luchas, I’ve shown everyone just what I’m capable of. Actually, I tend to do that every time when I make my debut for a promotion. Each time I walk into a promotion and do a first promo video, much like the one you’re all watching right now, the feedback I get from the ‘more experienced’ guys is: ‘Yeah, you’re a good trashtalker. You have the money face, you say the right words, but you only do this on the side of running a business, so I guess you won’t be able to go twenty minutes with the best of them, right?’ They always say shit like that. And so I prove them wrong. In my debut matches, I’ve won four way frays, battle royals, hardcore matches, bar room brawls, I’ve fought midgets and giants, fat guys and ripped hoss fuckers. And just a few weeks ago, I stepped into an Exploding Cage match. And each of those times, I came out victorious. And when the boos from the idiots in attendance stopped, all I heard was this.”
He claps once.
“That’s the sound of the mouths of all the haters and doubters backstage. Shutting. When they found out that I’ve beaten hardcore icons without using a single foreign object, they stood silent. When they saw that I overcame explosives busting my face and back and won the Exploding Cage Match, they stood silent. In respect. They realised I am not just a handsome guy, I am not just all talk, no delivery. I am The Bestest in the World. That’s not just a gimmick, just a phrase to put on a t-shirt. It’s who I am, it’s how I live every day.
At Chapter Dos: Thundercunt, let’s say that event name loudly and proudly, THUNDERCUNT, I face Amis ‘Fucking’ Shelton of Brutal Force Wrestling fame. Now, the easy way out of this promo, for me, is to point out that mister Shelton, a veteran o 11 years, nearing 32 years of age, is so creative that his nickname is a single swear word and his finisher is called ‘You’re Fucked’. But if I did that, I would not even be trying at all… You know, kinda like mister Shelton himself when he was coming up with names for his moveset. Oops. I guess I did it anyway. Well… The real issue I have with Amis Shelton is that he’s not just another opponent I have to drop on his head, tie up in a knot and pin to the canvas to earn my hefty paycheck and my spot at the very top of the card. He’s the kind of guy that I, from a perspective of a wrestling purist so to speak, can not allow to progress in the Super Falcon Cup, not to mention win the whole thing.
I mean, yes, I’m genuinely happy for him that in his eleventh year as a professional wrestler, he is getting his big break, and even got a run with the Heavyweight Championship of his home promotion BFW. I can’t imagine how that must feel, to work and work and work, just to wait an entire decade for that one chance to climb to the piedestal. It didn’t happen to me, I won my first title in my first month in wrestling, and became the World Champion within a year and a half. That’s what urges me so much to beat you, what separates me from you, Amis Shelton. When you’re not giving yourself or your moves lame names, you’re a decent wrestler, you’re a decent trashtalker… but you’re not a wrestling superstar. You can’t just put the whole company on your back and carry it from the shadows to prominency. That’s what I can do. People seem to think that I am just a guy who takes wrestling as a hobby to his corporate job. But at Chapter Dos, they will once again learn I am THE BEST damn professional wrestler in the world. I am not just a businessman…”
He leans in closer to the camera and smirks.
“…I am the business.”
The scene fades to black.
OFF CAMERA
April 19th – nearly midnight
The iPhone on D.C. Wiland’s nightstand beeps. The Main Man wakes up immediately and glances at his phone.
“I fucking swear to God, if it’s another spam…”
He reaches for it and finds out it’s actually a text message.
“I have a business proposition for you. See you in The Labyrinth? Carlos Diaz.”
Wiland just smiles as he quickly types the answer.
“I’ll be all ears.”
March 27th, immediately following GOL’s Chapter Uno
Camera crew approaches the locker room area slowly. There’s only one man left sitting on the bench, still in his wrestling gear and with a towel over his head, and that man is D.C. Wiland. The winner of GOL’s first ever main event looks at the camera, his face still covered in blood and bruises after meeting the explosive parts of the cage.
“Well I… I gotta give it to ya,” he says, breathing heavily. “That was a fucking crazy ride. My face damn near exploded, I was this close to blowing my knee all out at the finish of the match, so I have no idea how am I gonna wrestle in the UK tomorrow… but you know what?”
He smirks.
“I still got the win. Just like I told you. And after all the abuse from whoever the fuck runs the Twitter account of this place, and from the fans, and from just about anybody in Guerreros of Lucha.. you all finally see what I’ve been presenting you since the day I signed the contract. D.C. Wiland is the best on the roster. Me and Tiger Mask Red… we are running this place. That means The Usual Rudos are taking home the Super Falcon Cup AND the Rey de Reyes title… and there’s a big fat zero in the column of things you can do about it. See you on May 1st, fuckfaces.”
He throws his towel at the camera as the scene fades.
OFF CAMERA
April 18th
“Thundercunt?”
“Indeed.”
“Thunder–“
“Yes.”
“–cunt.”
“Yes, Derrick. Is that so hard to understand?” D.C. Wiland asks his brother. The two are sitting by a table in a corner of a nice restaurant, enjoying coffee after lunch. Derrick, very much a world traveller, is in town for a while, so he took up the opportunity to take his big brother for lunch… and ask him about the questionable names of events he is booked at.
“Listen, Frank… You explained why the hell you took up the opportunity to wrestle in Nigeria of all places. And I won’t ask questions about that anymore, alright? But… Thundercunt? Who the hell names their events like Thundercunt?” Derrick asks again.
“The guys in Guerreros of Lucha, apparently,” D.C. answers surprisingly calmly, taking a sip of his espresso. “Seriously man, you’re so whiny. Every place is weird, every name is weird–“
“Maybe that’s why I am on a hiatus with zero bookings and you’re booked left and right.”
“You just burned yourself, brother. But yeah, I totally think it’s one of the reasons.”
Derrick chuckles to himself.
“So… what are you in for this time? After that Exploding–“
“Shush. Never talk about that again. And as for your question, I am in two tournaments. One for the title, one for… I dunno, bragging rights? Promotion supremacy? The fun of kicking people’s asses? Something like that. Needless to say, I’m planning on winning both of those. World domination, brother… World domination.”
Derrick laughs, and his laughter echoes so much it turns the heads of a few people in the restaurant.
“Fuck off, I’m serious,” D.C. snaps at his younger brother. “I can’t believe that after all that time, I am the one who takes wrestling seriously. You were the big time strong style dude, and you failed and left your wrestling career. And I, the guy who everyone considered a doofus, became a world champion, and I’m gonna do it again. You can laugh all you can, but when I stick another world championship in your face, you’ll finally shut up!”
The younger of the Wiland brothers remains silent.
“Now finish your fucking coffee,” D.C. barks as he downs his espresso, throws a few bucks on the table and leaves the place.
ON CAMERA
April 19th – afternoon
“And representing Pollomania… Dee… Cee… Wiland,” The Main Man says slowly as we see the beginning seconds of his promotional video. He is dressed sharply, sporting a tailor-made suit and an artistic wooden bowtie. The Pollomania Golden Egg Championship, though not his, is resting on his shoulder. He is standing in front of a big Guerreros of Lucha banner, presumably spread over a wall in his training place.
“Funny, isn’t it? Representing Pollomania… after how they treated me,” he scoffs. “I gave them something no one else could give. A well traveled, world famous wrestling superstar that can carry the promotion to new heights, to pastures greener than it has ever seen. A man who can do all that, if he has the Pollomania Supremo Championship. But they decided to screw me over. Instead of rightfully restarting the match for the Golden Egg Championship, the golden ticket on one’s way to the Supremo title, they considered that fluke win by my opponent as a legitimate one and now, they are calling her the champion instead of me. That grinds my gears… not to mention the said opponent is La Cucaracha, a young woman I’ve already beaten and embarrassed… and I am willing to do that again, and again, as many times as the people need, until they finally see that there is no one else better and more deserving of the praise and championship glory than myself.”
Wiland glances at the title belt and polishes it quickly with his sleeve before turning his focus back on the camera.
“I could just take this championship title, that is RIGHTFULLY mine, and take it with me somewhere else, leaving Pollomania never to return, finding a new home… all that jazz. And I would have genuinely every right to do so. But I won’t. Instead, I’m gonna do something that I do every single day of my life, every time I come across an opponent, an envious person, a stubborn bureaucrat, or an everyday idiot – I’m gonna be the better man.
That, in this case, means that after all the tricks Pollomania has pulled on me, after all the overweight superheroes and fourth-wall-breaking insects it has thrown in front of me, I will still represent it with my head held high. And when I win the Super Falcon Cup AND the tournament to crown the first ever Rey de Reyes Champion, and bring all that gold back to whichever city Pollomania will be running on that day, they will go – ‘Oh fuck. We really dropped the ball with his guy when we had him have meaningless matches with the likes of Owl Man instead of putting him in the title hunt the very second he walked through our door.’
The road to that very moment, to that satisfaction, starts May 1st, at Guerreros of Lucha and their second chapter.”
He adjusts the title on his shoulder before continuing.
“I believe that at Rise of the Luchas, I’ve shown everyone just what I’m capable of. Actually, I tend to do that every time when I make my debut for a promotion. Each time I walk into a promotion and do a first promo video, much like the one you’re all watching right now, the feedback I get from the ‘more experienced’ guys is: ‘Yeah, you’re a good trashtalker. You have the money face, you say the right words, but you only do this on the side of running a business, so I guess you won’t be able to go twenty minutes with the best of them, right?’ They always say shit like that. And so I prove them wrong. In my debut matches, I’ve won four way frays, battle royals, hardcore matches, bar room brawls, I’ve fought midgets and giants, fat guys and ripped hoss fuckers. And just a few weeks ago, I stepped into an Exploding Cage match. And each of those times, I came out victorious. And when the boos from the idiots in attendance stopped, all I heard was this.”
He claps once.
“That’s the sound of the mouths of all the haters and doubters backstage. Shutting. When they found out that I’ve beaten hardcore icons without using a single foreign object, they stood silent. When they saw that I overcame explosives busting my face and back and won the Exploding Cage Match, they stood silent. In respect. They realised I am not just a handsome guy, I am not just all talk, no delivery. I am The Bestest in the World. That’s not just a gimmick, just a phrase to put on a t-shirt. It’s who I am, it’s how I live every day.
At Chapter Dos: Thundercunt, let’s say that event name loudly and proudly, THUNDERCUNT, I face Amis ‘Fucking’ Shelton of Brutal Force Wrestling fame. Now, the easy way out of this promo, for me, is to point out that mister Shelton, a veteran o 11 years, nearing 32 years of age, is so creative that his nickname is a single swear word and his finisher is called ‘You’re Fucked’. But if I did that, I would not even be trying at all… You know, kinda like mister Shelton himself when he was coming up with names for his moveset. Oops. I guess I did it anyway. Well… The real issue I have with Amis Shelton is that he’s not just another opponent I have to drop on his head, tie up in a knot and pin to the canvas to earn my hefty paycheck and my spot at the very top of the card. He’s the kind of guy that I, from a perspective of a wrestling purist so to speak, can not allow to progress in the Super Falcon Cup, not to mention win the whole thing.
I mean, yes, I’m genuinely happy for him that in his eleventh year as a professional wrestler, he is getting his big break, and even got a run with the Heavyweight Championship of his home promotion BFW. I can’t imagine how that must feel, to work and work and work, just to wait an entire decade for that one chance to climb to the piedestal. It didn’t happen to me, I won my first title in my first month in wrestling, and became the World Champion within a year and a half. That’s what urges me so much to beat you, what separates me from you, Amis Shelton. When you’re not giving yourself or your moves lame names, you’re a decent wrestler, you’re a decent trashtalker… but you’re not a wrestling superstar. You can’t just put the whole company on your back and carry it from the shadows to prominency. That’s what I can do. People seem to think that I am just a guy who takes wrestling as a hobby to his corporate job. But at Chapter Dos, they will once again learn I am THE BEST damn professional wrestler in the world. I am not just a businessman…”
He leans in closer to the camera and smirks.
“…I am the business.”
The scene fades to black.
OFF CAMERA
April 19th – nearly midnight
The iPhone on D.C. Wiland’s nightstand beeps. The Main Man wakes up immediately and glances at his phone.
“I fucking swear to God, if it’s another spam…”
He reaches for it and finds out it’s actually a text message.
“I have a business proposition for you. See you in The Labyrinth? Carlos Diaz.”
Wiland just smiles as he quickly types the answer.
“I’ll be all ears.”