Post by M.D.K. on Jan 21, 2018 17:12:20 GMT -5
A quiet park by a lake and a bench sits vacant in the chilly January air. Everything is perfectly still for it is dawn and the only sound can be heard is the breeze as it tickles the lake. The camera fixes itself on the bench as a female figure strides towards the bench with purpose with a large bag draped over her shoulder. It’s not made explicitly clear who it is but the shape and form of the figure is unmistakable to WGWF fans as that of Alyce Starchylde as the sits casually on the bench and checks her watch.
The camera draws closer and the figure is confirmed to be that of Alyce as she places the large bag down on the bench and looks at her watch again. She mouths a countdown silently with her lips without breaking her gaze on the watch now while it remains deathly silent still. As she reaches the count of one, the silence is punctured by an enormous crash of water as a huge beast emerges from the large with a primordial roar which is matched by a roar that comes from the figure that sits astride the gargantuan beast. He may be caked in water flora, muck and drenched in a mixture of water, blood and mud but it is clearly M.D.K. astride the beast whose roar is a mixture of fear and rage as the beast rises higher and higher into the air. It is the mixture of a large serpent and a whale if both had had their skin removed.
Alyce stands up and steps towards the lake and reaches for the back of her shorts and curses at something that she has forgotten. She hollers up at M.D.K. as the beast levels out and soars over the lake.
Alyce: “You’re gonna have to jump to land!”
M.D.K.: “ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?”
Alyce: “It’s either that or get crushed…”
M.D.K.: “Fuck this! One… two…”
Before he reaches three, he springs off of the beast and aims his body at where Alyce stands. The beast plummets towards the water again as M.D.K.’s body corkscrews and cartwheels through the air until it crashes onto the bank and tumbles along the grass until he smashes into the bench and lays there for a moment as Alyce charges over to him to check up on her man. His breath causes rapid clouds of mist as he attempts to compose himself.
Alyce: “Danny? Danny? Talk to me!”
M.D.K.: “I think I may have rolled in dog shit…”
Alyce can’t help but smile as she stands up and helps M.D.K. to his feet and helps him sit down on the bench. She reaches into the bag and hands M.D.K. a hand-towel which he looks down at, then looks at Alyce in disbelief. He is caked in mud, filth, and blood and is soaked through to the skin and he’s been handed a towel no bigger than a tea towel. He mops his face and hair with the towel and tosses it to the side. Alyce is opening a flask of hot brown fluid and her voice is thick with sarcasm.
Alyce: “So… that appeared to go well…”
M.D.K.: “You said it’d be easy. You said all I had to do it swim down there and talk to the chieftain and make peace with the sub-mariners…”
Alyce: “I’m judging by the blood and the guck that it wasn’t how it panned out…”
M.D.K.: “I accidentally dropped my napkin into my dinner…”
Alyce: “Oh boy…”
M.D.K.: “The chieftain starts screaming and suddenly that thing sweeps into the hall and then I’m wrestling that fat fuck…”
Alyce: “So you’ve met a war whale…”
M.D.K.: “A war whale?”
Alyce: “Sub-Mariner warriors ride them into battle and they have been used as fodder in the past in previous wars.”
M.D.K.: “I haven’t ridden a fat lump like that since college…”
Alyce: “So classy… Coffee?”
He takes the cup offered to him and guzzles it greedily and holds the mug out for another. Alyce obliges as M.D.K. speaks.”
M.D.K.: “So are we going back in?”
Alyce: “WE are not going anywhere. You need time to rest and you have managed to offend an entire tribe to such an extent, that they sent a war whale after you.”
M.D.K.: “Are you implying that I wouldn’t be welcome?”
Alyce: “There’s no implication in it… You go back down there and you get lynched. I’m not having that incident report to fill out to the WGWF bigwigs…”
M.D.K.: “So what shall I do?”
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a set of keys and tosses them at the champion.
Alyce: “Take these, go and get warm and get a shower at the hotel.”
M.D.K.: “How will you get back?”
Alyce has stripped off now and is tying her hair back as she faces the lake clad in just shorts and a skimpy top.
Alyce: “I’ll sort something out… go relax.”
He takes the keys after finishing his coffee and limps towards the car where he sits on the plastic coated seat and slips the key into the ignition and pauses for a moment and lets the previous few hours sink in as he gives the road ahead of him a thousand yard stare before turning the ignition on and driving off. He glances at a dash-cam as he drives.
M.D.K.: “The joy of driving first thing in the morning on the weekend is the blissful quiet that you get. No old people, no clueless kids and no halfwits to slow you down. It’s just you, your vehicle and the joy of the freedom. When the obstacles are removed, the driving is not only easier, but it’s far more enjoyable to boot. That’s just like this company; when you cut away the deadwood, cut out those who don’t matter and you crush the weak, you are left with a smooth path to glory. For me, that started with pairing up with Frosty, lulling the pretty boy into a false sense of security and then taking the title away. After that, you simply beat down the threats and then offer them a chance to stand against you or with you and the rest – as they say – is history.”
“And finally, after all my warnings and all of my taunts, the pretty boy worm has finally turned – just a little – but enough to notice. I admit, that I was ready to moan and complain and lament on how the deck has been stacked against me, how hard done by I am and how I am the victim of this piece…”
He chews down hard on some gum, smirks and wags his finger at the camera.
M.D.K.: “But that’s not for now… Now, I need to cleanse myself… physically not emotionally because I have had the most fucked up of evenings.”
He turns the car into a lavish looking hotel with a sweeping gravel pathway leading up to what can only be described as a castle that has been converted. He pulls the car into a space and trudges up the stone steps and into the impressive looking entranceway as the door is held open for him by the concierge who looks stunned at the state of M.D.K. and endeavours to give him as wide a berth as possible. He strolls over to the lift and presses the button and as it arrives, a family are coming out and they look positively terrified of the demi-god standing before them. The son – no older than five or six – stands with his mouth agape as M.D.K. strides into the elevator and presses a muddy paw against the buttons which leaves a large smear.
The lift music plays as the boy stands in amazement at the figure standing before him. M.D.K. looks slightly put off by this staring and keeps looking towards the kid and then dead ahead before he sees the kid staring at him from the corner of his eye. The lift pings and the doors open and M.D.K. steps out but not before reaching his hand out to the kid and running the mud caked hand down the entire face of the kid who remains in a stunned silence as do his relatives as he leaves a muddy trail behind him as he makes his way towards his room. The house keeper stares at M.D.K. as he stomps his filthy feet along the cleaned floors and she mutters something in Spanish to him. He stops in his tracks and turns back to where she is mopping and stares at her for a moment, smirks and then turns his back to her, faces the bucket and the wall and adjusts himself. We hear the unmistakable sound of water being poured into the bucket and we know from the position he is in, what is providing that water. The house-keeper looks disgusted as M.D.K. shivers as he finishes, turns back to the woman and smiles smugly. She goes to say something and M.D.K. kicks the bucket over sending the cleaning product and urine filled water across the corridor. The World Heavyweight Champion nods to the woman and strolls off to his room.
He opens the door and steps in. He immediately peels off his once white t-shirt and tosses it to the side as his bag crumples to the carpet. He reaches for his still damp jeans and drops them and stumbles into the bedroom area of the hotel room and stands in front of the mirror. He flexes and poses for himself and blows kisses to himself as he speaks – once again – to himself.
M.D.K.: “Who’s my handsome warrior? I am. Who’s gonna beat blondie and spud boy once again? I am. Who’s gonna march into the West Coast Rumble and prepare for the welcoming committee being set up for me? I am. Who’s the greatest champion of all?”
?: “Erm… Mr Tenegra?”
M.D.K. jumps and turns to see a stunning woman sat in the chair clad in a white toga with an ornate metal helmet on her head. Beside her sits a young man clad in furs with an impressive axe resting upon his lap. M.D.K.’s eyes widen and he grabs the sight-seeing catalogue that was on the side to cover himself so that his genital area now reads ‘What Sights To Behold’ in large white letters. The woman stands and glides over to him with a large bath towel. He takes it from her and wraps it around himself as she sits back down.
M.D.K.: “Forgive my bluntness, but who the blue fuck are you two funsters?”
Woman: “I am Cardio of Arrhythmia and this is Renu my boy… We have travelled far to be here and have tried to send many messages via our carrier birds.”
M.D.K.: “Owls? Like fucking Harry Potter.”
Cardio: “Not quite.”
M.D.K.: “Eagles? Like Lord of the fucking Rings?”
Cardio: “No… that’s not…”
M.D.K.: “Pigeons? Like World War One?”
Cardio: “I think we are getting off point…”
M.D.K.: “Ravens… like Game of Thrones?”
Cardio: “I don’t think you… actually… yes… we sent you a messenger bird just like Game of Thrones.”
M.D.K.: “That’s lucky as I was running out of television references…”
Cardio: “Did you not get our message then?”
M.D.K.: “I get plenty of messages; you’ll have to be more specific.”
Cardio: “It was attached to the leg of a large black bird.”
M.D.K.: “Gabourey Sidibe?”
Cardio: “What? I don’t understand…”
The young man turns to Cardio
Renu: “Are you sure this is him my queen? This man is an oaf…”
M.D.K.’s demeanour immediately changes and he frowns at the young man. M.D.K. strides over to the man who stands up and holds his axe boldly. M.D.K. looks at him up and down and swats the axe from his hand and palms the boy in the face so hard that he falls down. Cardio stands up.
Cardio: “Please! Calm down…”
M.D.K.: “Calm down? You stride into my hotel room and let yourself in and demand that I have read your letters like you are fucking Stan from that Eminem song I can’t remember the name of. What the blue fuck do you want?”
Cardio: “We know who you are and your relation to the Red Queen. We know who you are and what you can do and we need that.”
M.D.K. pauses and bites the inside of his mouth as he contemplates his next words. He ponders what he has been dragged into by Alyce not just literally like earlier on but in moments like this. He has a World Heavyweight Championship defence to be considering right now. In the very near future, he is going up against two of the most dangerous competitors in the WGWF and two men that – in their own unique way – have had M.D.K.’s number. It’s not a nice feeling to have, but it’s one that hammers home the importance that he is ready for a match such as this. He needs to be one hundred percent focussed and yet here he stands with two rejects from a renaissance fayre. He also now understands – thanks to Alyce – exactly how important he is to these people. He is feared and revered in equal measure and if they are coming to him, they clearly need him for a reason. He walks over to the table and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He reaches down and guzzles the liquor in one before looking at Cardio in the mirror and speaking to her.
M.D.K.: “What is it?”
Cardio: “In our culture, every feud and grievance is settled in a trial by combat.”
M.D.K.: “Like Game of Thrones…”
Cardio: “… where each party may select a champion…”
M.D.K.: “Like Game of Thrones…”
Cardio: “And they battle it out for the honour of their charge…”
M.D.K.: “Did you know your name means irregular heartbeat?”
The woman sighs deeply as her colleague stands up again finally and stands beside her.
Renu: “Your talk is nought but funny to you is it?”
M.D.K. turns to glare at Renu before looking back to Cardio.
M.D.K.: “Rein your dog in before I do it for you…”
She grips the arm of Renu and nods to him and he goes to stand in the corner while Cardio stands beside M.D.K. and talks into the mirror alongside him.
Cardio: “Look, I know you have other, bigger fish to fry but we need you to help us. We need the Crimson King…”
M.D.K. smiles and looks down at the table and the remnants of his drink. It’s nice to be needed and wanted and so what if it means dropping into the realms of fantasy and fighting titans of the mythological world? So what if it means that people think that you are crazy. It’s nice to be wanted…
M.D.K.: “When do we leave?”
Cardio: “Any time you want…”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=s7L2PVdrb_8
What better way for M.D.K. to be introduced to this realm in a true medieval sense of the word. He sits in a white marble and gold clad room which makes the hotel that he was checked into earlier look like dog-shit. He is freshly washed now as he sits clad in a pair of black trousers and nothing else as he bare feet flex against the cool, stone floor and two hand-maidens massage his immense shoulders with lotion as he sits calmly with his hands pressed together and a peaceful expression etched across his face. Renu walks into the room and stares down the chosen warrior.
Renu: “Cardio wants to know if you are ready.”
M.D.K. looks up at Renu and smirks.
M.D.K.: “Did you know that your name is a brand of eye lubricant?”
Renu: “Do you ever take anything seriously?”
M.D.K. stands up and strides towards Renu with the smirk still in place. He towers over Renu as he walks closer and closer until he is well in the personal space of the liege. Renu looks up at M.D.K. desperate to not let on how fearful he is. M.D.K. leans into the ear of Renu and his voice ripples into the ears of the smaller man like a rustle of leaves.
M.D.K.: “Tell me something, you are such a bold young man, why didn’t your precious leader pick you to fight her dispute?”
Renu remains silent.
M.D.K.: “Do you think that maybe she hasn’t because she knows that you aren’t good enough to fight her battles. Maybe she knows that all you are, and all you ever will be is a glorified cheerleader for her. Nothing more, nothing less; just… decoration.”
Renu glowers at M.D.K. in a moment of envy and acceptance. To simply look at the frame of M.D.K., you can see that he is a god amongst men in terms of stature and look and that burns at the young man stood before him. M.D.K. awaits a response and when one doesn’t come, he cackles wickedly and playfully pats the lad on the face before pointing at the door.
M.D.K.: “Is this the way? Thanks kid…”
M.D.K. strolls along the corridor and looks at the ornate sculptures and lavish artwork that lines the corridor. As he strolls along, he can hear a rhythmic drum being played. The beat is steady and increases in volume as he draws closer to the main hall and as he approaches the gargantuan black doors, two guards draw them open with some effort to allow M.D.K. entry to a huge amphitheatre where hundreds of people are sat in anticipation of the warrior entering the arena. The drum’s pace increases and the crowd roar as M.D.K. walks in and drinks in the reaction. It’s been a while since he last drank in a reaction such as this. The warmth and the generosity of the reaction is something that M.D.K. hasn’t experienced in a very long time. You tend not to when you are a grade A arsehole. Cardio glides to the front of a balcony above the impending action and for such a small frame, her voice manages to boom across the amphitheatre.
Cardio: “Ladies and gentlemen, introducing my champion… M… D… K!”
The drum and the cheers reach a frantic pitch and pace now and M.D.K. thumps his chest boldly and raises a fist to the onlookers which sends their reactions to an ever higher pace. The drum then suddenly stops and all eyes focus on the equally impressive double doors at the other end of the amphitheatre. They crank open flooding the darker half of the room with light as the figure stomps forwards and gasps rise up around the arena… Standing before M.D.K. in all its glory… is a potato wrapped in tin-foil.
---
Boy 1: “What the hell is that? We are only supposed to use actual action figures!”
We cut to four young boys about the age of ten or twelve (not… ELEVEN) and definitely not affiliated with any Netflix original stories as they roll dice and play a game of Dungeons and Dragons. The chubby kid with no front teeth clutches an M.D.K. action figure which he is using as his piece and his token black friend sat opposite him is clutching onto a large potato that is wrapped in tin foil…
Boy 2: “You know that we lost what I wanted to use! I improvised!”
The overly skinny kid who could do with a good meal hides behind his book and looks on while the fourth kid who frequently disappears speaks up.
Boy 4: “There’s improvising and making this look stupid! Potatoes can’t fight!”
They all pause to let that point sink in just in case anybody is watching this…
Boy 1: “Look, who else was you going to bring out?”
The second boy sheepishly pulls out a Barbie doll that has had its hair chopped into a bob and has had abs crudely drawn onto it with a sharpie marker.
Boy 4: “A doll? You brought a damn doll?”
Boy 1: “Dammit! Pretty little dolls can’t fight either!”
There’s another pause as that too sinks in… A voice comes from outside of the room…
Voice: “Boys! Your dinner is ready!”
The boys drop all of what they are holding and run out of the room. The camera pans across the game-board where the various figures appear strewn across the playing surface and the book from which the boy was reading lays face down and splayed open. The camera pans past the potato and the doll and then focuses on the action figure of M.D.K… As the camera remains trained on the toy, we notice that it blinks! It becomes apparent quickly that M.D.K. has taken the place of the action figure and is placed in the middle of an over-sized game board. Surrounding him are the toys we saw earlier just in life sized form and all lay motionless around him.
M.D.K. sits up and looks around him with a smile. He stands up and walks over to the chewing gum wrappers that are on one corner of the table that are the size of cars in this environment. He makes his way over to a yo-yo that lies partially unravelled nearby which is the size of a pool table and sits on it comfortably. He looks at the camera that has been following him all this time.
M.D.K.: “Boys and their toys and games. What better way to escape a pitiful existence than to bury yourself in a realm of fantasy where you can be anything and anyone. You can be the biggest, the strongest and fight all those things that you are too shit-scared to do in the real world. In the world you create, there are no bullies, there are no threats, no abusive parents and there are only happy ever afters. I never understood the kids at school that spent their time embroiled with the Dungeons and Dragons, the Pokémon and the Pogs of this world. I wasn’t about undertaking a Final Fantasy and I would hardly think that any Gathering that Magic could muster would be one worth attending.”
He hops off the yo-yo and strolls along the game board.
M.D.K.: “For me there was no need to escape the world I am a part of because it’s always been a pretty damn good one. Sure, I struggled and worked my arse off to be where I am but when my life is this good, what’s the point in escaping? For those that feel that they need to though, there comes a time where the curtain has to fall, Oz has to emerge from behind the smoke and mirrors and reality has to be faced. It’s the time when you realise the truth behind it all. Santa’s not real, the love that your parents claim to have for each other is a myth and Oz is just a little man… When those realities kick in, playtime is over.”
“Facing reality means coming to terms with certain inalienable truths and it means shaking off the protective shackles of fantasy and all too many of you peasants, pissants and peons have been encapsulated in that comfort blanket of fantasy. The fantasy that tells you that you are worth something to this company, the fantasy that tells you that the fans are there to see you in action and the fantasy that tells you that you have a shot at my World Heavyweight Championship. All of you get told that it could happen one day, whether you are K-Remix or John Gambino, you are given the story that there is a chance that you could beat me for this championship…”
He reaches down to the yo-yo and picks up the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship.
M.D.K. “This symbol of dominance, of might and of pure class is what is promised to each and every one of the WGWF when they sign up but in reality who can say they genuinely feel that they have a shot at this? Sure, there are anomalies and freak, fairy-tale stories of people upsetting the odds to get to the top – Terry Borden I am looking at you – but when it comes down to the brass tacks of this industry, a good wrestler knows their place in the food chain and in a company where I am here, all of you are just prey for an apex predator like me.”
“And so it’s the West Coast Rumble where this time last year, I was preparing for my return to the ring. It had been many years since I had set foot in the WGWF and already, my name was being bandied about as the winner elect. I had not set foot in a WGWF ring for years and yet, my position as the alpha and omega of this industry was recognised. This time last year, the Ryder Rebels, the Jamie O’Hara’s and the clarified fucking potatoes of this company were immediately outshone, out-wrestled and out-classed by the three simple letters and the one violent man.”
He chuckles to himself before continuing.
M.D.K.: “Do you remember that day boys? Do you remember the day that Paul Frost broke Tristan Slater in half and I took the fragile hope that the pretty boy’s lackey had of being something more than just a glorified fucking war whale?”
He turns his head to the side to face a secondary camera.
M.D.K.: “And that’s where that reference comes into play…”
He turns back to the main camera, drapes the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship over his shoulder and places his hands in his pockets and strolls across the play area.
M.D.K.: “The past twelve months have seen a fluctuation in fortunes for all three of us in this battle for the biggest prize in professional wrestling. We all know the road I travelled to Summer Madness and the subsequent accolades I would go onto achieve. We all know that Slater and I tore the roof off of every arena in which we have gone to war in the past twelve years and we all know damn well that I have elevated the championship from a mere accolade… to a symbol of greatness.”
“But what about you two? What have you done to change the record? Slater, you lost the championship and have battled against my good lady Queen… She has taken you to your absolute limit and forced you to face the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Alyce has broken you down and toyed with the fragments and you think that somehow you are worthy of a shot at this title again? Have you done anything since I left you a heaving, sobbing, bleeding mass of mediocrity back in the sweet summer of seventeen?”
“And as for your pet potato? Tell me monkey boy, what have you done in the past twelve months? You got a scratch behind the ears and told what a good boy you are until Slater finally realised what he has truly known for a hell of a long time now. You are deadweight potato boy… and finally the pretty boy prince has seen you for what you are. You’ve bumbled around from big man clash to big man clash and have done what exactly? Have you really made yourself into a contender or have you simply flopped and floundered and embarrassed yourself and fallen into here by circumstance. Alyce is too damn merciful, Gambino is too damn lazy and James Raven is too fucking thick to find his way to the ring. And as for your little act vegetable boy, all that I had going through my mind was this…”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ilnnMzK_m8w
M.D.K. has now made his way to a giant play area that is in the corner of the bedroom. M.D.K. stands surrounded by giant versions of toy cars, other action figures and board games. He sits on an giant deck of cards as he talks.
M.D.K.: “So, you have your little fantasy world Spud and I have the other realm which I go to for business. But tell me lackey, what you do… why you do it. You are no different to the kids that were playing up there are you? Escaping the insipid existence you have dared to call a career and all the while shutting your ears off to every fact, every criticism and every cold, hard truth you have ever had to face. Your chequered past is something you dust over with your poxy foundation; the abuse, the mental health problems and the god damned fucking homicides that circle your name each and every day. Yet… you paint that innocent look across your face, you put on the pretence of being a charitable and venerable saint and you come out each and every week as part of the moral fucking high ground. You think that my way of dealing with things is immoral, you think I am the big, bad wolf and you think that I am the villain of the piece. The differences between you and me are fundamentally obvious for the world to see anyway lackey, but there is one that is overlooked each and every time.”
He stands up and gestures to himself.
M.D.K.: “I am an arsehole – a well-documented, card carrying and certified one – and I am proud to admit that. I have committed heinous acts in the past and I have beaten down, bullied and brutalised my way to being in this position. I have seen chumps come and go and I have beaten the best in this business in doing so. For everything I have done, for every spirit I have crushed and for every dream I have destroyed, I put my hands up and admit to that. I am man enough to admit to my deeds and misdeeds and wear each of them like a tattoo on my arm. I don’t excuse what I do, I don’t deny my past and I don’t hide behind anybody else to justify all I have done.”
“Do you wonder why I still call you a potato? A lackey? Why I call you anything other than your name? To be worthy of a name, you need to have my respect. Tristan has my respect because despite his shortcomings in every facet of his existence, he keeps coming forward and has a modicum of style about it. I look at you, doggy paddling in a sea of denial and I wonder how I can begin to respect you when you are so bereft of self-respect.”
He walks up to a doll’s house which curiously isn’t hugely oversized. In fact, compared to M.D.K. it is the size of a doll’s house. He crouches beside it. Inside the house there is a potato and he picks it up and looks at the camera.
M.D.K.: “Remember mummy and daddy? Remember when you claim to have stabbed the intruder out of self-defence?”
He hammers three dolls with the potato.
M.D.K.: “You see, I’ve a theory on what REALLY happened. You were the only witness to what happened and I don’t believe it for a minute. You claim you found your mummy dead and then you hurt the man who attacked your father… But I reckon, you just did the all of them in. Your parents were probably trying to ship you off to some child trafficking ring and they took one look at your sorry fat arse and decided that even desperate molesters wouldn’t even fuck you. You then turned on the starch caked tears and turned it into something else where you did nothing wrong. It saw you go into foster care where like the flea-bitten dog in the pound, nobody wanted you.”
“Then your precious… oh wait, you told me I couldn’t say her name didn’t you?”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=yRDivUb5EeA
“So you bang your buddy’s sister and let her get raped… was it because you were out-witted? Well that wouldn’t be hard would it? Was it because you were over-powered? Or maybe, just maybe you were a pathetic, impotent cuckold that gave her away to receive something that you couldn’t give her…”
He holds up a female doll that looks frighteningly like Jessica.
M.D.K.: “I could re-enact what you let her go through… instead, I’ll show you the end result.”
He reaches up and takes a bottle of PVA glue from one side, stands the doll up and proceeds to squirt the thick, white substance all over her. He then leans over to where a radiator is against the wall and smashes the doll against the radiator so that its head comes off. He smirks at the camera and lets that sink in before continuing.
M.D.K.: “And again, you harp on about the Foundation and how you have been ‘hard done by’ yet without trial, without a comeuppance you stand here with the audacity to think that you are the good guy of this tale? There is one thing to be said though about you, there is a perfect symmetry about every chapter of your life. It always ends with you losing and things going up in smoke for you. Whether that’s your family, your friends or your opportunities, your life ends up in a pile of ashes each and every time.”
He takes the potato and the shattered, glue coated doll and places it in the doll’s house. From his pocket he pulls out a box of matches and rattles them with a grin on his face.
M.D.K.: “When everything else has gone up in smoke lackey, why the hell would this be any different?”
He takes the box of matches and strikes one leading the doll’s house to ignite quickly and fiercely as the skin of the potato warps and contorts before splitting open. M.D.K. drapes a blanket over the flames to extinguish them, smirks and places his hands into his pockets and strolls across to where a variety of board games are scattered about.
M.D.K.: “See, the one thing I have to do straight up is applaud you Slater… You have finally shed yourself of the weight around your ankle that is the vegetable you have dressed up as a cheerleader for too fucking long now. Now I don’t care whether this is a ruse to lull me into a false sent of security or it could just be a way to try and put more asses on seats but you are forgetting that the one man stadium filler is what is headlining this event with you two being there as nothing more than garnish or fodder.”
He kicks at one of the board games and the board falls out; it’s snakes and ladders.
M.D.K.: “See Tristy, I have called you a user and an abuser for a long time, I saw through everything you claimed to be and knew you were a snake… everybody could see that you had your pet gorilla as nothing more than a security policy for a long time and just as he starts to find his own identity, you slap him back down to square one… You knew the shelf life of your relationship with Lackey-bollocks was finite and you pulled the trigger to end it at the perfect time… for me.”
“You could have picked me apart at the Rumble, you and he could have gone harder on me than that group went in on Jessica… You could have picked me off and chosen the best time to drop Turnip boy but instead, you have created a maelstrom of chaos. Potato-Boy doesn’t know which way is up and a juggernaut like him isn’t going to stop until he is wrapped up in a fucking straitjacket. Maybe that’s what you want though…”
He nudges the next game forwards…
M.D.K.: “It was inevitable it was going to happen though. That lummox had put a lot of pressure on you for a long ass time. You weren’t just carrying him in the ring but you were carrying his emotional baggage and putting your name on that god-awful Foundation. What was the straw that broke your back, the one that made you buck… buckaroo? Did you wake up after another night of aggressively spooning him and realise that life with a potato isn’t for you? Or did you realise that he was a threat to you?”
“That’s why when you look at the West Coast Rumble itself, tell me what you see. Do you see a queue of people around the block who are there to get a piece of you or the monkey butler? Or are they here because they have history with me, because they have beef with me or because they are out there to make sure that my interests are protected. Chris Page, Alyce Starchylde and our little Royal Court are there for me and me alone. The likes of Black Death, Dorling and Andy Johnson know the value in facing me. The likes of John Gambino and The Sentinel know damn well that a match with me and a shot at a title held by me is worth big time money.”
“Then you have the likes of James Raven and every other icon of this company. Which name is on their lips as the one they want? Which one do the powers that be know is a truly amazing stadium filler, which one is the eight figure pay per view seller and which face is on the merchandise, the lunchboxes and the t-shirts? Fuck me, these kids don’t even bother with a Slater figure, they just paint abs onto a Barbie doll!”
The next games drop forwards.
M.D.K.: “You had the Monopoly on this industry and this company but the reality is, you were simply a place-holder until I decided to take what’s mine back. Ever since I came back, you doubted me and you brushed the threat I had off. You said I was past it, you said I was a transitional champion, that I couldn’t defend my title and you said that I couldn’t keep going. Each and every time I have proved you wrong, I have taken your doubts and I have balled them up and jammed them up your ass. I have taken your disrespect, your hypocrisy and your pathetic attempts at pretending that I wasn’t taking up residence in your brain and I have sat back and waited for you to make your move for this title. I have watched as my sweet Queen has broken you physically and mentally, I have listened to your doubt as I not only beat my greatest rival, but I got him as a part of my court. I owned 2017, I made this company my own with the crushing of legends and icons as they fell like dominoes; James Raven? Schooled like a chump. Kyle Shane? Decimated. Tristan Slater? Just another victim.”
“Each and every one of the peons, peasants and pissants stepped up to the plate and each and every one of them got swatted aside. You fell that bit harder though didn’t you Tristan? Your streak, your era of dominance and your veil of invincibility went with one match with one demi-god over one brutal summer. And since then, what have you done? You could have come back at me and stomped your feet and come and had your rematch but you didn’t. You will sit there and claim that you were licking your wounds and infer that you were biding your time but we all know the truth don’t we Tristan? We know damn well that you were scared. Never before had you been so easily man-handled, never before you had you been out-witted, out-wrestled and out-classed. You came face to face with an icon of the company and a deity of the industry and you pissed your pants and went home.”
“Then what did you do? What was your answer to make me think that you might still be worth my time? Did you chase me and my title? Or did you try and bully Alyce? Did you try and poo-poo on everything she has done? Did you try and make a mockery of her? You did didn’t you and where did it get you? My Queen, my Goddess and my lady picked you apart, she broke your sorry ass in half which begs the biggest question of all.”
He walks over to a table and sits down at it. A chess board is laid out with white and red pieces and M.D.K. sits behind the red pieces. He rolls the red king in his hands before looking back up at the camera.
M.D.K.: “You want to take this piece? You want to win the game against me? If you can’t take the queen out, what hope do you have to take me out? You might not realise this yet Slater but I wanted to lament at how the deck was stacked out of my favour what feels like a lifetime ago, but in reality you’ve changed the playing field and orchestrated your own defeat.”
He gestures to the white side of the board.
M.D.K.: “The fodder are busy hoping for a golden opportunity in the rumble…”
He swipes the pawns from the board.
M.D.K.: “The clever words and the mind games were impotent against me…”
The rooks and the bishops tumble.
M.D.K.: “And the moment you acted like a snake on the last Brawl, you lost the high horse which you were perched on.”
The white knights are flicked away.
M.D.K.: “And with that action on the last Brawl, you squandered your queen. You fat, bald and ugly fucking queen but your queen all the same. Do you know what that means for you Tristy?”
His electric blue eyes burn into the camera as he speaks it with intensity and passion.
M.D.K.: “Checkmate.”
M.D.K. stands up and adjusts the championship across his shoulder.
M.D.K.: “So head to the fantasy world, call me by my birth name in a bid to make me more human or less scary to you or doubt me once more. I will do what I have continued to do each since the last Rumble and since the birth of my career. That is to render the weak, the chaff and the mortals like you and your lackey truly… and utterly INFERIOR!”
He can’t help but let out a mocking chuckle.
M.D.K.: “Playtime’s over.”
He walks away from the scene with that ever-present shit eating grin.
The camera draws closer and the figure is confirmed to be that of Alyce as she places the large bag down on the bench and looks at her watch again. She mouths a countdown silently with her lips without breaking her gaze on the watch now while it remains deathly silent still. As she reaches the count of one, the silence is punctured by an enormous crash of water as a huge beast emerges from the large with a primordial roar which is matched by a roar that comes from the figure that sits astride the gargantuan beast. He may be caked in water flora, muck and drenched in a mixture of water, blood and mud but it is clearly M.D.K. astride the beast whose roar is a mixture of fear and rage as the beast rises higher and higher into the air. It is the mixture of a large serpent and a whale if both had had their skin removed.
Alyce stands up and steps towards the lake and reaches for the back of her shorts and curses at something that she has forgotten. She hollers up at M.D.K. as the beast levels out and soars over the lake.
Alyce: “You’re gonna have to jump to land!”
M.D.K.: “ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?”
Alyce: “It’s either that or get crushed…”
M.D.K.: “Fuck this! One… two…”
Before he reaches three, he springs off of the beast and aims his body at where Alyce stands. The beast plummets towards the water again as M.D.K.’s body corkscrews and cartwheels through the air until it crashes onto the bank and tumbles along the grass until he smashes into the bench and lays there for a moment as Alyce charges over to him to check up on her man. His breath causes rapid clouds of mist as he attempts to compose himself.
Alyce: “Danny? Danny? Talk to me!”
M.D.K.: “I think I may have rolled in dog shit…”
Alyce can’t help but smile as she stands up and helps M.D.K. to his feet and helps him sit down on the bench. She reaches into the bag and hands M.D.K. a hand-towel which he looks down at, then looks at Alyce in disbelief. He is caked in mud, filth, and blood and is soaked through to the skin and he’s been handed a towel no bigger than a tea towel. He mops his face and hair with the towel and tosses it to the side. Alyce is opening a flask of hot brown fluid and her voice is thick with sarcasm.
Alyce: “So… that appeared to go well…”
M.D.K.: “You said it’d be easy. You said all I had to do it swim down there and talk to the chieftain and make peace with the sub-mariners…”
Alyce: “I’m judging by the blood and the guck that it wasn’t how it panned out…”
M.D.K.: “I accidentally dropped my napkin into my dinner…”
Alyce: “Oh boy…”
M.D.K.: “The chieftain starts screaming and suddenly that thing sweeps into the hall and then I’m wrestling that fat fuck…”
Alyce: “So you’ve met a war whale…”
M.D.K.: “A war whale?”
Alyce: “Sub-Mariner warriors ride them into battle and they have been used as fodder in the past in previous wars.”
M.D.K.: “I haven’t ridden a fat lump like that since college…”
Alyce: “So classy… Coffee?”
He takes the cup offered to him and guzzles it greedily and holds the mug out for another. Alyce obliges as M.D.K. speaks.”
M.D.K.: “So are we going back in?”
Alyce: “WE are not going anywhere. You need time to rest and you have managed to offend an entire tribe to such an extent, that they sent a war whale after you.”
M.D.K.: “Are you implying that I wouldn’t be welcome?”
Alyce: “There’s no implication in it… You go back down there and you get lynched. I’m not having that incident report to fill out to the WGWF bigwigs…”
M.D.K.: “So what shall I do?”
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a set of keys and tosses them at the champion.
Alyce: “Take these, go and get warm and get a shower at the hotel.”
M.D.K.: “How will you get back?”
Alyce has stripped off now and is tying her hair back as she faces the lake clad in just shorts and a skimpy top.
Alyce: “I’ll sort something out… go relax.”
He takes the keys after finishing his coffee and limps towards the car where he sits on the plastic coated seat and slips the key into the ignition and pauses for a moment and lets the previous few hours sink in as he gives the road ahead of him a thousand yard stare before turning the ignition on and driving off. He glances at a dash-cam as he drives.
M.D.K.: “The joy of driving first thing in the morning on the weekend is the blissful quiet that you get. No old people, no clueless kids and no halfwits to slow you down. It’s just you, your vehicle and the joy of the freedom. When the obstacles are removed, the driving is not only easier, but it’s far more enjoyable to boot. That’s just like this company; when you cut away the deadwood, cut out those who don’t matter and you crush the weak, you are left with a smooth path to glory. For me, that started with pairing up with Frosty, lulling the pretty boy into a false sense of security and then taking the title away. After that, you simply beat down the threats and then offer them a chance to stand against you or with you and the rest – as they say – is history.”
“And finally, after all my warnings and all of my taunts, the pretty boy worm has finally turned – just a little – but enough to notice. I admit, that I was ready to moan and complain and lament on how the deck has been stacked against me, how hard done by I am and how I am the victim of this piece…”
He chews down hard on some gum, smirks and wags his finger at the camera.
M.D.K.: “But that’s not for now… Now, I need to cleanse myself… physically not emotionally because I have had the most fucked up of evenings.”
He turns the car into a lavish looking hotel with a sweeping gravel pathway leading up to what can only be described as a castle that has been converted. He pulls the car into a space and trudges up the stone steps and into the impressive looking entranceway as the door is held open for him by the concierge who looks stunned at the state of M.D.K. and endeavours to give him as wide a berth as possible. He strolls over to the lift and presses the button and as it arrives, a family are coming out and they look positively terrified of the demi-god standing before them. The son – no older than five or six – stands with his mouth agape as M.D.K. strides into the elevator and presses a muddy paw against the buttons which leaves a large smear.
The lift music plays as the boy stands in amazement at the figure standing before him. M.D.K. looks slightly put off by this staring and keeps looking towards the kid and then dead ahead before he sees the kid staring at him from the corner of his eye. The lift pings and the doors open and M.D.K. steps out but not before reaching his hand out to the kid and running the mud caked hand down the entire face of the kid who remains in a stunned silence as do his relatives as he leaves a muddy trail behind him as he makes his way towards his room. The house keeper stares at M.D.K. as he stomps his filthy feet along the cleaned floors and she mutters something in Spanish to him. He stops in his tracks and turns back to where she is mopping and stares at her for a moment, smirks and then turns his back to her, faces the bucket and the wall and adjusts himself. We hear the unmistakable sound of water being poured into the bucket and we know from the position he is in, what is providing that water. The house-keeper looks disgusted as M.D.K. shivers as he finishes, turns back to the woman and smiles smugly. She goes to say something and M.D.K. kicks the bucket over sending the cleaning product and urine filled water across the corridor. The World Heavyweight Champion nods to the woman and strolls off to his room.
He opens the door and steps in. He immediately peels off his once white t-shirt and tosses it to the side as his bag crumples to the carpet. He reaches for his still damp jeans and drops them and stumbles into the bedroom area of the hotel room and stands in front of the mirror. He flexes and poses for himself and blows kisses to himself as he speaks – once again – to himself.
M.D.K.: “Who’s my handsome warrior? I am. Who’s gonna beat blondie and spud boy once again? I am. Who’s gonna march into the West Coast Rumble and prepare for the welcoming committee being set up for me? I am. Who’s the greatest champion of all?”
?: “Erm… Mr Tenegra?”
M.D.K. jumps and turns to see a stunning woman sat in the chair clad in a white toga with an ornate metal helmet on her head. Beside her sits a young man clad in furs with an impressive axe resting upon his lap. M.D.K.’s eyes widen and he grabs the sight-seeing catalogue that was on the side to cover himself so that his genital area now reads ‘What Sights To Behold’ in large white letters. The woman stands and glides over to him with a large bath towel. He takes it from her and wraps it around himself as she sits back down.
M.D.K.: “Forgive my bluntness, but who the blue fuck are you two funsters?”
Woman: “I am Cardio of Arrhythmia and this is Renu my boy… We have travelled far to be here and have tried to send many messages via our carrier birds.”
M.D.K.: “Owls? Like fucking Harry Potter.”
Cardio: “Not quite.”
M.D.K.: “Eagles? Like Lord of the fucking Rings?”
Cardio: “No… that’s not…”
M.D.K.: “Pigeons? Like World War One?”
Cardio: “I think we are getting off point…”
M.D.K.: “Ravens… like Game of Thrones?”
Cardio: “I don’t think you… actually… yes… we sent you a messenger bird just like Game of Thrones.”
M.D.K.: “That’s lucky as I was running out of television references…”
Cardio: “Did you not get our message then?”
M.D.K.: “I get plenty of messages; you’ll have to be more specific.”
Cardio: “It was attached to the leg of a large black bird.”
M.D.K.: “Gabourey Sidibe?”
Cardio: “What? I don’t understand…”
The young man turns to Cardio
Renu: “Are you sure this is him my queen? This man is an oaf…”
M.D.K.’s demeanour immediately changes and he frowns at the young man. M.D.K. strides over to the man who stands up and holds his axe boldly. M.D.K. looks at him up and down and swats the axe from his hand and palms the boy in the face so hard that he falls down. Cardio stands up.
Cardio: “Please! Calm down…”
M.D.K.: “Calm down? You stride into my hotel room and let yourself in and demand that I have read your letters like you are fucking Stan from that Eminem song I can’t remember the name of. What the blue fuck do you want?”
Cardio: “We know who you are and your relation to the Red Queen. We know who you are and what you can do and we need that.”
M.D.K. pauses and bites the inside of his mouth as he contemplates his next words. He ponders what he has been dragged into by Alyce not just literally like earlier on but in moments like this. He has a World Heavyweight Championship defence to be considering right now. In the very near future, he is going up against two of the most dangerous competitors in the WGWF and two men that – in their own unique way – have had M.D.K.’s number. It’s not a nice feeling to have, but it’s one that hammers home the importance that he is ready for a match such as this. He needs to be one hundred percent focussed and yet here he stands with two rejects from a renaissance fayre. He also now understands – thanks to Alyce – exactly how important he is to these people. He is feared and revered in equal measure and if they are coming to him, they clearly need him for a reason. He walks over to the table and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He reaches down and guzzles the liquor in one before looking at Cardio in the mirror and speaking to her.
M.D.K.: “What is it?”
Cardio: “In our culture, every feud and grievance is settled in a trial by combat.”
M.D.K.: “Like Game of Thrones…”
Cardio: “… where each party may select a champion…”
M.D.K.: “Like Game of Thrones…”
Cardio: “And they battle it out for the honour of their charge…”
M.D.K.: “Did you know your name means irregular heartbeat?”
The woman sighs deeply as her colleague stands up again finally and stands beside her.
Renu: “Your talk is nought but funny to you is it?”
M.D.K. turns to glare at Renu before looking back to Cardio.
M.D.K.: “Rein your dog in before I do it for you…”
She grips the arm of Renu and nods to him and he goes to stand in the corner while Cardio stands beside M.D.K. and talks into the mirror alongside him.
Cardio: “Look, I know you have other, bigger fish to fry but we need you to help us. We need the Crimson King…”
M.D.K. smiles and looks down at the table and the remnants of his drink. It’s nice to be needed and wanted and so what if it means dropping into the realms of fantasy and fighting titans of the mythological world? So what if it means that people think that you are crazy. It’s nice to be wanted…
M.D.K.: “When do we leave?”
Cardio: “Any time you want…”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=s7L2PVdrb_8
What better way for M.D.K. to be introduced to this realm in a true medieval sense of the word. He sits in a white marble and gold clad room which makes the hotel that he was checked into earlier look like dog-shit. He is freshly washed now as he sits clad in a pair of black trousers and nothing else as he bare feet flex against the cool, stone floor and two hand-maidens massage his immense shoulders with lotion as he sits calmly with his hands pressed together and a peaceful expression etched across his face. Renu walks into the room and stares down the chosen warrior.
Renu: “Cardio wants to know if you are ready.”
M.D.K. looks up at Renu and smirks.
M.D.K.: “Did you know that your name is a brand of eye lubricant?”
Renu: “Do you ever take anything seriously?”
M.D.K. stands up and strides towards Renu with the smirk still in place. He towers over Renu as he walks closer and closer until he is well in the personal space of the liege. Renu looks up at M.D.K. desperate to not let on how fearful he is. M.D.K. leans into the ear of Renu and his voice ripples into the ears of the smaller man like a rustle of leaves.
M.D.K.: “Tell me something, you are such a bold young man, why didn’t your precious leader pick you to fight her dispute?”
Renu remains silent.
M.D.K.: “Do you think that maybe she hasn’t because she knows that you aren’t good enough to fight her battles. Maybe she knows that all you are, and all you ever will be is a glorified cheerleader for her. Nothing more, nothing less; just… decoration.”
Renu glowers at M.D.K. in a moment of envy and acceptance. To simply look at the frame of M.D.K., you can see that he is a god amongst men in terms of stature and look and that burns at the young man stood before him. M.D.K. awaits a response and when one doesn’t come, he cackles wickedly and playfully pats the lad on the face before pointing at the door.
M.D.K.: “Is this the way? Thanks kid…”
M.D.K. strolls along the corridor and looks at the ornate sculptures and lavish artwork that lines the corridor. As he strolls along, he can hear a rhythmic drum being played. The beat is steady and increases in volume as he draws closer to the main hall and as he approaches the gargantuan black doors, two guards draw them open with some effort to allow M.D.K. entry to a huge amphitheatre where hundreds of people are sat in anticipation of the warrior entering the arena. The drum’s pace increases and the crowd roar as M.D.K. walks in and drinks in the reaction. It’s been a while since he last drank in a reaction such as this. The warmth and the generosity of the reaction is something that M.D.K. hasn’t experienced in a very long time. You tend not to when you are a grade A arsehole. Cardio glides to the front of a balcony above the impending action and for such a small frame, her voice manages to boom across the amphitheatre.
Cardio: “Ladies and gentlemen, introducing my champion… M… D… K!”
The drum and the cheers reach a frantic pitch and pace now and M.D.K. thumps his chest boldly and raises a fist to the onlookers which sends their reactions to an ever higher pace. The drum then suddenly stops and all eyes focus on the equally impressive double doors at the other end of the amphitheatre. They crank open flooding the darker half of the room with light as the figure stomps forwards and gasps rise up around the arena… Standing before M.D.K. in all its glory… is a potato wrapped in tin-foil.
---
Boy 1: “What the hell is that? We are only supposed to use actual action figures!”
We cut to four young boys about the age of ten or twelve (not… ELEVEN) and definitely not affiliated with any Netflix original stories as they roll dice and play a game of Dungeons and Dragons. The chubby kid with no front teeth clutches an M.D.K. action figure which he is using as his piece and his token black friend sat opposite him is clutching onto a large potato that is wrapped in tin foil…
Boy 2: “You know that we lost what I wanted to use! I improvised!”
The overly skinny kid who could do with a good meal hides behind his book and looks on while the fourth kid who frequently disappears speaks up.
Boy 4: “There’s improvising and making this look stupid! Potatoes can’t fight!”
They all pause to let that point sink in just in case anybody is watching this…
Boy 1: “Look, who else was you going to bring out?”
The second boy sheepishly pulls out a Barbie doll that has had its hair chopped into a bob and has had abs crudely drawn onto it with a sharpie marker.
Boy 4: “A doll? You brought a damn doll?”
Boy 1: “Dammit! Pretty little dolls can’t fight either!”
There’s another pause as that too sinks in… A voice comes from outside of the room…
Voice: “Boys! Your dinner is ready!”
The boys drop all of what they are holding and run out of the room. The camera pans across the game-board where the various figures appear strewn across the playing surface and the book from which the boy was reading lays face down and splayed open. The camera pans past the potato and the doll and then focuses on the action figure of M.D.K… As the camera remains trained on the toy, we notice that it blinks! It becomes apparent quickly that M.D.K. has taken the place of the action figure and is placed in the middle of an over-sized game board. Surrounding him are the toys we saw earlier just in life sized form and all lay motionless around him.
M.D.K. sits up and looks around him with a smile. He stands up and walks over to the chewing gum wrappers that are on one corner of the table that are the size of cars in this environment. He makes his way over to a yo-yo that lies partially unravelled nearby which is the size of a pool table and sits on it comfortably. He looks at the camera that has been following him all this time.
M.D.K.: “Boys and their toys and games. What better way to escape a pitiful existence than to bury yourself in a realm of fantasy where you can be anything and anyone. You can be the biggest, the strongest and fight all those things that you are too shit-scared to do in the real world. In the world you create, there are no bullies, there are no threats, no abusive parents and there are only happy ever afters. I never understood the kids at school that spent their time embroiled with the Dungeons and Dragons, the Pokémon and the Pogs of this world. I wasn’t about undertaking a Final Fantasy and I would hardly think that any Gathering that Magic could muster would be one worth attending.”
He hops off the yo-yo and strolls along the game board.
M.D.K.: “For me there was no need to escape the world I am a part of because it’s always been a pretty damn good one. Sure, I struggled and worked my arse off to be where I am but when my life is this good, what’s the point in escaping? For those that feel that they need to though, there comes a time where the curtain has to fall, Oz has to emerge from behind the smoke and mirrors and reality has to be faced. It’s the time when you realise the truth behind it all. Santa’s not real, the love that your parents claim to have for each other is a myth and Oz is just a little man… When those realities kick in, playtime is over.”
“Facing reality means coming to terms with certain inalienable truths and it means shaking off the protective shackles of fantasy and all too many of you peasants, pissants and peons have been encapsulated in that comfort blanket of fantasy. The fantasy that tells you that you are worth something to this company, the fantasy that tells you that the fans are there to see you in action and the fantasy that tells you that you have a shot at my World Heavyweight Championship. All of you get told that it could happen one day, whether you are K-Remix or John Gambino, you are given the story that there is a chance that you could beat me for this championship…”
He reaches down to the yo-yo and picks up the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship.
M.D.K. “This symbol of dominance, of might and of pure class is what is promised to each and every one of the WGWF when they sign up but in reality who can say they genuinely feel that they have a shot at this? Sure, there are anomalies and freak, fairy-tale stories of people upsetting the odds to get to the top – Terry Borden I am looking at you – but when it comes down to the brass tacks of this industry, a good wrestler knows their place in the food chain and in a company where I am here, all of you are just prey for an apex predator like me.”
“And so it’s the West Coast Rumble where this time last year, I was preparing for my return to the ring. It had been many years since I had set foot in the WGWF and already, my name was being bandied about as the winner elect. I had not set foot in a WGWF ring for years and yet, my position as the alpha and omega of this industry was recognised. This time last year, the Ryder Rebels, the Jamie O’Hara’s and the clarified fucking potatoes of this company were immediately outshone, out-wrestled and out-classed by the three simple letters and the one violent man.”
He chuckles to himself before continuing.
M.D.K.: “Do you remember that day boys? Do you remember the day that Paul Frost broke Tristan Slater in half and I took the fragile hope that the pretty boy’s lackey had of being something more than just a glorified fucking war whale?”
He turns his head to the side to face a secondary camera.
M.D.K.: “And that’s where that reference comes into play…”
He turns back to the main camera, drapes the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship over his shoulder and places his hands in his pockets and strolls across the play area.
M.D.K.: “The past twelve months have seen a fluctuation in fortunes for all three of us in this battle for the biggest prize in professional wrestling. We all know the road I travelled to Summer Madness and the subsequent accolades I would go onto achieve. We all know that Slater and I tore the roof off of every arena in which we have gone to war in the past twelve years and we all know damn well that I have elevated the championship from a mere accolade… to a symbol of greatness.”
“But what about you two? What have you done to change the record? Slater, you lost the championship and have battled against my good lady Queen… She has taken you to your absolute limit and forced you to face the deepest, darkest corners of your mind. Alyce has broken you down and toyed with the fragments and you think that somehow you are worthy of a shot at this title again? Have you done anything since I left you a heaving, sobbing, bleeding mass of mediocrity back in the sweet summer of seventeen?”
“And as for your pet potato? Tell me monkey boy, what have you done in the past twelve months? You got a scratch behind the ears and told what a good boy you are until Slater finally realised what he has truly known for a hell of a long time now. You are deadweight potato boy… and finally the pretty boy prince has seen you for what you are. You’ve bumbled around from big man clash to big man clash and have done what exactly? Have you really made yourself into a contender or have you simply flopped and floundered and embarrassed yourself and fallen into here by circumstance. Alyce is too damn merciful, Gambino is too damn lazy and James Raven is too fucking thick to find his way to the ring. And as for your little act vegetable boy, all that I had going through my mind was this…”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ilnnMzK_m8w
M.D.K. has now made his way to a giant play area that is in the corner of the bedroom. M.D.K. stands surrounded by giant versions of toy cars, other action figures and board games. He sits on an giant deck of cards as he talks.
M.D.K.: “So, you have your little fantasy world Spud and I have the other realm which I go to for business. But tell me lackey, what you do… why you do it. You are no different to the kids that were playing up there are you? Escaping the insipid existence you have dared to call a career and all the while shutting your ears off to every fact, every criticism and every cold, hard truth you have ever had to face. Your chequered past is something you dust over with your poxy foundation; the abuse, the mental health problems and the god damned fucking homicides that circle your name each and every day. Yet… you paint that innocent look across your face, you put on the pretence of being a charitable and venerable saint and you come out each and every week as part of the moral fucking high ground. You think that my way of dealing with things is immoral, you think I am the big, bad wolf and you think that I am the villain of the piece. The differences between you and me are fundamentally obvious for the world to see anyway lackey, but there is one that is overlooked each and every time.”
He stands up and gestures to himself.
M.D.K.: “I am an arsehole – a well-documented, card carrying and certified one – and I am proud to admit that. I have committed heinous acts in the past and I have beaten down, bullied and brutalised my way to being in this position. I have seen chumps come and go and I have beaten the best in this business in doing so. For everything I have done, for every spirit I have crushed and for every dream I have destroyed, I put my hands up and admit to that. I am man enough to admit to my deeds and misdeeds and wear each of them like a tattoo on my arm. I don’t excuse what I do, I don’t deny my past and I don’t hide behind anybody else to justify all I have done.”
“Do you wonder why I still call you a potato? A lackey? Why I call you anything other than your name? To be worthy of a name, you need to have my respect. Tristan has my respect because despite his shortcomings in every facet of his existence, he keeps coming forward and has a modicum of style about it. I look at you, doggy paddling in a sea of denial and I wonder how I can begin to respect you when you are so bereft of self-respect.”
He walks up to a doll’s house which curiously isn’t hugely oversized. In fact, compared to M.D.K. it is the size of a doll’s house. He crouches beside it. Inside the house there is a potato and he picks it up and looks at the camera.
M.D.K.: “Remember mummy and daddy? Remember when you claim to have stabbed the intruder out of self-defence?”
He hammers three dolls with the potato.
M.D.K.: “You see, I’ve a theory on what REALLY happened. You were the only witness to what happened and I don’t believe it for a minute. You claim you found your mummy dead and then you hurt the man who attacked your father… But I reckon, you just did the all of them in. Your parents were probably trying to ship you off to some child trafficking ring and they took one look at your sorry fat arse and decided that even desperate molesters wouldn’t even fuck you. You then turned on the starch caked tears and turned it into something else where you did nothing wrong. It saw you go into foster care where like the flea-bitten dog in the pound, nobody wanted you.”
“Then your precious… oh wait, you told me I couldn’t say her name didn’t you?”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=yRDivUb5EeA
“So you bang your buddy’s sister and let her get raped… was it because you were out-witted? Well that wouldn’t be hard would it? Was it because you were over-powered? Or maybe, just maybe you were a pathetic, impotent cuckold that gave her away to receive something that you couldn’t give her…”
He holds up a female doll that looks frighteningly like Jessica.
M.D.K.: “I could re-enact what you let her go through… instead, I’ll show you the end result.”
He reaches up and takes a bottle of PVA glue from one side, stands the doll up and proceeds to squirt the thick, white substance all over her. He then leans over to where a radiator is against the wall and smashes the doll against the radiator so that its head comes off. He smirks at the camera and lets that sink in before continuing.
M.D.K.: “And again, you harp on about the Foundation and how you have been ‘hard done by’ yet without trial, without a comeuppance you stand here with the audacity to think that you are the good guy of this tale? There is one thing to be said though about you, there is a perfect symmetry about every chapter of your life. It always ends with you losing and things going up in smoke for you. Whether that’s your family, your friends or your opportunities, your life ends up in a pile of ashes each and every time.”
He takes the potato and the shattered, glue coated doll and places it in the doll’s house. From his pocket he pulls out a box of matches and rattles them with a grin on his face.
M.D.K.: “When everything else has gone up in smoke lackey, why the hell would this be any different?”
He takes the box of matches and strikes one leading the doll’s house to ignite quickly and fiercely as the skin of the potato warps and contorts before splitting open. M.D.K. drapes a blanket over the flames to extinguish them, smirks and places his hands into his pockets and strolls across to where a variety of board games are scattered about.
M.D.K.: “See, the one thing I have to do straight up is applaud you Slater… You have finally shed yourself of the weight around your ankle that is the vegetable you have dressed up as a cheerleader for too fucking long now. Now I don’t care whether this is a ruse to lull me into a false sent of security or it could just be a way to try and put more asses on seats but you are forgetting that the one man stadium filler is what is headlining this event with you two being there as nothing more than garnish or fodder.”
He kicks at one of the board games and the board falls out; it’s snakes and ladders.
M.D.K.: “See Tristy, I have called you a user and an abuser for a long time, I saw through everything you claimed to be and knew you were a snake… everybody could see that you had your pet gorilla as nothing more than a security policy for a long time and just as he starts to find his own identity, you slap him back down to square one… You knew the shelf life of your relationship with Lackey-bollocks was finite and you pulled the trigger to end it at the perfect time… for me.”
“You could have picked me apart at the Rumble, you and he could have gone harder on me than that group went in on Jessica… You could have picked me off and chosen the best time to drop Turnip boy but instead, you have created a maelstrom of chaos. Potato-Boy doesn’t know which way is up and a juggernaut like him isn’t going to stop until he is wrapped up in a fucking straitjacket. Maybe that’s what you want though…”
He nudges the next game forwards…
M.D.K.: “It was inevitable it was going to happen though. That lummox had put a lot of pressure on you for a long ass time. You weren’t just carrying him in the ring but you were carrying his emotional baggage and putting your name on that god-awful Foundation. What was the straw that broke your back, the one that made you buck… buckaroo? Did you wake up after another night of aggressively spooning him and realise that life with a potato isn’t for you? Or did you realise that he was a threat to you?”
“That’s why when you look at the West Coast Rumble itself, tell me what you see. Do you see a queue of people around the block who are there to get a piece of you or the monkey butler? Or are they here because they have history with me, because they have beef with me or because they are out there to make sure that my interests are protected. Chris Page, Alyce Starchylde and our little Royal Court are there for me and me alone. The likes of Black Death, Dorling and Andy Johnson know the value in facing me. The likes of John Gambino and The Sentinel know damn well that a match with me and a shot at a title held by me is worth big time money.”
“Then you have the likes of James Raven and every other icon of this company. Which name is on their lips as the one they want? Which one do the powers that be know is a truly amazing stadium filler, which one is the eight figure pay per view seller and which face is on the merchandise, the lunchboxes and the t-shirts? Fuck me, these kids don’t even bother with a Slater figure, they just paint abs onto a Barbie doll!”
The next games drop forwards.
M.D.K.: “You had the Monopoly on this industry and this company but the reality is, you were simply a place-holder until I decided to take what’s mine back. Ever since I came back, you doubted me and you brushed the threat I had off. You said I was past it, you said I was a transitional champion, that I couldn’t defend my title and you said that I couldn’t keep going. Each and every time I have proved you wrong, I have taken your doubts and I have balled them up and jammed them up your ass. I have taken your disrespect, your hypocrisy and your pathetic attempts at pretending that I wasn’t taking up residence in your brain and I have sat back and waited for you to make your move for this title. I have watched as my sweet Queen has broken you physically and mentally, I have listened to your doubt as I not only beat my greatest rival, but I got him as a part of my court. I owned 2017, I made this company my own with the crushing of legends and icons as they fell like dominoes; James Raven? Schooled like a chump. Kyle Shane? Decimated. Tristan Slater? Just another victim.”
“Each and every one of the peons, peasants and pissants stepped up to the plate and each and every one of them got swatted aside. You fell that bit harder though didn’t you Tristan? Your streak, your era of dominance and your veil of invincibility went with one match with one demi-god over one brutal summer. And since then, what have you done? You could have come back at me and stomped your feet and come and had your rematch but you didn’t. You will sit there and claim that you were licking your wounds and infer that you were biding your time but we all know the truth don’t we Tristan? We know damn well that you were scared. Never before had you been so easily man-handled, never before you had you been out-witted, out-wrestled and out-classed. You came face to face with an icon of the company and a deity of the industry and you pissed your pants and went home.”
“Then what did you do? What was your answer to make me think that you might still be worth my time? Did you chase me and my title? Or did you try and bully Alyce? Did you try and poo-poo on everything she has done? Did you try and make a mockery of her? You did didn’t you and where did it get you? My Queen, my Goddess and my lady picked you apart, she broke your sorry ass in half which begs the biggest question of all.”
He walks over to a table and sits down at it. A chess board is laid out with white and red pieces and M.D.K. sits behind the red pieces. He rolls the red king in his hands before looking back up at the camera.
M.D.K.: “You want to take this piece? You want to win the game against me? If you can’t take the queen out, what hope do you have to take me out? You might not realise this yet Slater but I wanted to lament at how the deck was stacked out of my favour what feels like a lifetime ago, but in reality you’ve changed the playing field and orchestrated your own defeat.”
He gestures to the white side of the board.
M.D.K.: “The fodder are busy hoping for a golden opportunity in the rumble…”
He swipes the pawns from the board.
M.D.K.: “The clever words and the mind games were impotent against me…”
The rooks and the bishops tumble.
M.D.K.: “And the moment you acted like a snake on the last Brawl, you lost the high horse which you were perched on.”
The white knights are flicked away.
M.D.K.: “And with that action on the last Brawl, you squandered your queen. You fat, bald and ugly fucking queen but your queen all the same. Do you know what that means for you Tristy?”
His electric blue eyes burn into the camera as he speaks it with intensity and passion.
M.D.K.: “Checkmate.”
M.D.K. stands up and adjusts the championship across his shoulder.
M.D.K.: “So head to the fantasy world, call me by my birth name in a bid to make me more human or less scary to you or doubt me once more. I will do what I have continued to do each since the last Rumble and since the birth of my career. That is to render the weak, the chaff and the mortals like you and your lackey truly… and utterly INFERIOR!”
He can’t help but let out a mocking chuckle.
M.D.K.: “Playtime’s over.”
He walks away from the scene with that ever-present shit eating grin.