Post by M.D.K. on Aug 5, 2018 16:21:06 GMT -5
I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, “Come and see!” I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest. ( Revelation 6:1-2)
Part One: The White Ride of Conquest
A motorbike roars through a winding city street in the centre of London. It veers dangerously between vehicles through the evening traffic as it brushes with death with every screech of the tyres. The rider is clad in white leathers as it roars down a side street and continues on its journey before the wheels scream to a halt outside a jewellers whose alarms are in full alert. Within a heartbeat, a clown mask clad individual darts out of the store with a sawn off shotgun in one hand and a rucksack in the other. He hops onto the back of the bike as police sirens can be heard nearing the scene of the crime and the clown mask slaps his associate on the back and yells for them to go. The rider obliges and the bike speeds off as a police car arrives on the scene. The bike is able to take risks that the police car can’t though and it manages to pull into an alleyway after being pursued through the busy streets of the sprawling conurbation. It rounds into an industrial estate and continues to power away as the clown mask keeps checking over his shoulder to see whether the law enforcement are still nearby. He leans into the rider and shouts to make himself heard.
Clown: “We’ve fucking lost them! We’ve fucking lo-”
A loud honk of a car horn. A screech of tyres. A sound of metal on metal and the Go-Pro style camera that we were being treated to shows the sky and the ground in a spiralling repeat as the motorbike cartwheels across the road and up onto the curb before smashing into a shop front. The rider’s body tumbles like garbage in the wind before sliding along the concrete and his body jack-knifes horribly against a parked car while the man in the clown mask’s body flipped from the bike and is tossed into the air upon collision and thumps down through the windscreen of the car that collided with them. He is motionless and his arm flops out lifelessly and the rucksack he was holding tumbles from the bonnet of the car and falls to the street. The car door opens and a livid M.D.K. climbs out and looks absolutely livid at the state of his treasured E-Type Jaguar.
M.D.K.: “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”
The Crimson King of the WGWF places his hands to his head and stares at the devastation. The bonnet of his car is a crumpled mess, his windscreen is smashed and the bumper hangs limply into the road. The dress shoes of M.D.K. crunches against the broken glass from the windscreen and the headlights as he walks up to the rider and leans down to look at him. He flips up his visor and looks into the eyes of the rider and looks disgusted by what he sees. He stands up and gently with the heel of his shoe pushes his head away and walks back up to the clown mask man whose arm moves slightly and lets a groan out. M.D.K. walks up to him and tilts his head and smiles creepily at him before sitting down on the edge of the bonnet and lets out a deep sigh. The clown mask tilts his head towards M.D.K. a little and groans at him.
Clown: “Please… please help me…”
M.D.K. lets out a little chuckle and shakes his head.
M.D.K.: “That’s one thing I don’t miss about always living in this country. People are always expecting everything to be handed to them on a silver platter. The councils and government of this country try to give everything away to everybody whether they have earned it or not. They will be given houses, food, childcare, education and for those who demand more, they have glorified free supermarkets called food banks where they can pick up even more food without batting an eyelid. Look at you… Clearly you have done something you shouldn’t have and yet you expect for me to use my phone to call an ambulance where you will be taken to an NHS hospital, given free healthcare and then taken to a prison where you will be fed, watered and given a roof over your head for god knows how long. And then you have matey boy over there who will no doubt be given a free fancy funeral all coming out of the pockets of those who earn their livelihoods…”
Clown: “… Dan… is dead?”
M.D.K. places his finger to the clown’s lips and hushes him.
M.D.K.: “This isn’t your time to talk. Besides… do I look like a doctor to you? You see, I have to deal with people who think they are owed something each and every day. I have to face off with mere mortals that feel that they somehow entitled to have a piece of everything that I have. Since I returned to the WGWF, I have had a target placed on my back and I have had the world and his potato have been gunning for me. Fuelled by jealousy and false aspirations of grandeur, the entire WGWF has resented my place atop of the mountain of this company. I haven’t needed to hold the belt to be the main attraction of the company. I was the most watched match at Wrestle Wars, I am the most tweeted about superstar in this company and I am the face on the t-shirts, posters and in the fantasies of every wife, girlfriend and wide-eyed teenage girl as they make eyes at the ceiling while their ‘shoulder massager’ does magic for them.”
“I have taken that title as my own by beating the best of the best of the fucking best. I didn’t have to pick out the weak of the herd like others have done in order to do it and I certainly haven’t been beaten properly in order to relinquish the title and I always will be the Hall of Fame superstar who is still at the peak of his career over a decade later. This isn’t a peak with me because a peak is fleeting; this is more like a plateau of fucking perfection.”
Clown: “What… what are you talking about? I need medical assistance… Please…”
M.D.K.: “Of course you do! Peasants like you are always wanting!”
“Spare some change! I need some help! Save my baby’s life! Call for an ambulance!”
M.D.K. sighs and just looks exasperated as he leans down and pats the clown roughly across the face.
M.D.K.: “You see… if I help you… I have to help everyone don’t I? I would become a glorified fucking charity for every peon, peasant and piss-ant that comes up to me with outstretched hands begging me to throw them a bone. A title shot here, a tag partner there and a back up now and again and then what? Write out cheques to fork for a college fund, pay for rehab for yet another wrestling junkie, pay for a whore to get an abortion or maybe donate my time to a fucking Make-a-Wish kid? So no, if you don’t help yourself, then nobody will help you… Do you know who helped me get to where I am today?”
Clown: “I think I have internal bleeding…”
M.D.K.: “Nobody… I have achieved titles around the world, global recognition and I am a Hall of Fame superstar… I have the fans of the WGWF sucking on my balls to make sure that I don’t fuck off because in this day and age when you have superstars failing to turn up for shows, you have people using half of their arse week after week after poxy week and you have people taking their eye off the prize and they STILL expect to be standing in the ring with a man like me for a title as prestigious as the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship. You can line them up, put them alongside me and think that I will make them look like a fucking star. I’m drawing a line now though, the charitable side of me is cut off, the honourable side of me is dead. I’m not paid to make mortals look good, I’m not paid to put anybody over with the fans. I’m not here… every night, every week and every big show to put the arses on seats to make this fetid company money… And how do I get repaid? When I want to invoke my rematch after having MY title STOLEN by that glorified punching bag filled with chopped liver, do I get what I want? Or do I get fucked over and left without my gold?”
Clown: “Look fella… I’m sorry about your car… but please… call 999…”
M.D.K. sighs again and offers a sympathetic smile.
M.D.K.: “I’m talking! How fucking rude do you want to be? This is the problem with the unwashed masses. No manners because you were dragged up weren’t you… Bounced from foster home to foster home probably and never given a proper education. Anyway… I let that fat fuck have thirty seconds of glory before I took it back to where it rightfully belonged and what do you think they did? They vetoed my immediate fucking rematch leaving me holding my bollocks like some sort of… like some sort of fucking mortal! Like I was a run of the mill member of the company. Do they not recognise that I am fucking royalty in that place?”
“So not only do they make me fight the shaved bear once again, but they stick the pretty boy who can’t beat me despite all of his protestations… and not only that, they put the only woman to have ever understood me to try and stack the deck against me. They want me to carve through each of them in a bid to break down my chances of still being the once and true champion of this company come the end of Summer Madness… They think that by having my love, a nemesis and a general pain in my ass come up against me in one sitting that it will throw me off of my game. They think by putting people who they consider can get inside this.
(He points to his temple.)
“They think that they can keep stacking the deck and all they do it create a topsy turvy world where I end up looking like the sympathetic hero of the piece. So allow them to keep stacking the deck, allow the opposition to be in a mixture of denial and delusion for it will matter not when I leave them truly… and utterly.”
*Slump*
M.D.K. snaps out of his monologue and looks back towards the clown whose head has flopped backwards over the edge of the bonnet as his entire body has gone limp. In all honesty, he looks dead and M.D.K. pauses for a moment before shaking his head and takes his phone out of his pocket. He waits for a response at the other end before speaking.
M.D.K.: “Yeah hello? There’s been an accident. It’s looking quite serious to be honest. Two are majorly affected and will need emergency vehicles as soon as possible. Park Royal industrial estate in North West London… How long will it be? Thank you. Should I do anything? OK… I’ll wait.”
He hangs up and looks at the man and leans in.
M.D.K.: “Don’t worry… help will be here soon. You just… relax.”
He notices something sparkling in the corner of his eye and leans down to the rucksack. He opens it up and his eyes widen at a heap of jewellery inside. He picks up a necklace and runs it between his fingers. He smirks before looking at the motionless clown.
M.D.K.: “Thanks for this… I think we can call this your insurance payment.”
He reaches down and takes a handful from the bag and places it into his pocket. A large diesel engine rounds the corner and M.D.K. climbs off of the bonnet and hails the vehicle over. It’s a vehicle recovery truck. A worried looking mechanic climbs out.
Mechanic: “Hey man. You called about a breakdown… is everything OK? Has an ambulance been called for this blokes?”
M.D.K.: “Yeah… it’s all in hand… probably. Now please be careful loading my baby on. She’s to be treated like royalty.”
Mechanic: “Oh don’t worry sir, I’ll treat it as though it were my first born…”
M.D.K.: It’s far more important than any of your progeny…”
The mechanic’s shoulders slump as he obediently heads over to the Jaguar to measure it up and prepare for loading it onto his truck. He looks over at M.D.K. who is browsing his phone while he waits.
Mechanic: “Are you sure the ambulances are on their way? We’ll probably need the police too.”
M.D.K.: “Probably… I’ll ring again…”
He keeps browsing through his phone while he waits and suddenly a vehicle rounds a corner. M.D.K. walks over to the mechanic.
M.D.K.: “OK so my ride is here… If you can just get my car sorted, I’ll pay you handsomely.”
Mechanic: “What about the Old Bill?” [Writer’s note - ‘Old Bill’ = colloquial term for Police.]
M.D.K.: “Oh I’m sure I won’t have to pay the police off…”
Mechanic: “I think you should stay here…”
M.D.K.: “I think you should stick to what you do best…”
He climbs into the back of the car and makes another call that as the person on the other end answers, he has a warm smile spread across his face and he fiddles with the necklace in his hand.
M.D.K.: “Hello you… Are you at mine? I have a little surprise for you…”
+++
When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, “Come and see!” Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was given a large sword. ( Revelation 6:3-4)
Part 2: The Red Ride of War
He unlocks the door to his London flat and steps through. He downgraded his property after a while of never actually spending any time in London and so his modest two bedroom Docklands flat would have to suffice while he was here. It certainly wasn’t living like a peasant when he was here. The view for starters was a sight to behold across the River Thames as across the sprawling metropolis. He drank down every ounce of the summer sunshine as an eventful mornign was turning to an afternoon and all of the fun that will come with it. M.D.K. had already had his fill of arse-holes for today but a part of him felt like he was nowhere near done. He smiles as he walks through the flat with the expectation of his beloved to pop out of one of the rooms. There was nothing though, no candles, no music and sure as hell no Alyce. He smile of expectation was starting to falter as he continued to explore each room of the penthouse before walking into the kitchen. On the counter-top, an opened bottled of wine stands redundant and alone with a glass beside it; its contents are almost completely guzzled. Underneath the lipstick stained glass is a note signed with a lipstick mark that is unmistakable to M.D.K.
I just can’t do this with you right now. There’s too much at stake. A xxx [/I]
He closes his eyes and swallows his disappointment hard before crumpling the note in his hand and tosses it onto the counter. He leans on the counter and allows himself a laugh as he pulls the necklace out of his pocket and looks at it intently before roaring in frustration and throwing it across the kitchen. He takes a deep breath and composes himself before bringing out his phone and opening Uber only to see that no cars are available. He sighs and then looks outside at a particular vehicle regularly trundling past and he narrows his eyes.
M.D.K.: “Oh… you’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”
London buses are recognisable around the world and synonymous with London. They are part of the capillary system of the capital and used by everybody… a sour-faced M.D.K. is one of those passengers on a packed commuter bus across London. He sits in what was the only available seat on the bus at the front as a variety of people jostle and bump into each other as the big, red beast trundles through the city streets. M.D.K. watches the world go by. They pass a police cordon where ambulances and emergency vehicles tend to an accident. It looks to be a motorbike accident as two individuals are tended to and the bike appears to have taken a nasty spill. There is no other car in sight and that makes M.D.K. smile a little until a shadow looms over him. He looks up from his seat and sees a frail old lady wobbling on the spot as she stares at an unmoved M.D.K. who simply stares through her. A middle aged woman across the aisle stands up and gives up her seat to the old lady and mumbles the word “wanker” under her breath while continuing to glower at the king of the WGWF. The Hall of Famer simply shakes his head wearily and continues to look out of the window as the bus passes many icons of Central London. It was moments like this that made him a little homesick. London was where he spent much of his youth and it might not have been the hard knock life that so many wrestlers choose to harp on about, it might not have featured fires, orphanages and evil twins but it made him into the man he is today.It might rub people the wrong way, it might not be socially accepted but there is no denial that it has been effective. He had competed in London before but never in an event of this magnitude. Never with so much at stake. Never with so much to lose.
His train of thought is broken again as a shadow once again eclipses his face and diverts his attention from the world going by. He looks up and a young lady stands before him. She’s in maternity wear, pushing a pushchair with a young child in it and her stomach is far out to the front to indicate that she is expecting with another child in the not too distant future. She glares at M.D.K. who remains seated and gradually the rest of the bus turn and stare at M.D.K. as one little old man reaches forwards with his cane and taps the window beside M.D.K.
M.D.K. turns to the old man and nods with a false smile spread across his face. The old man grumbles to himself and shakes his head sadly while the pregnant woman staggers and wobbles and struggles to maintain a vertical base. M.D.K. continues to look ahead while the typical British response to him is to tut and sigh and glare at him without confrontation. Eventually the old man stands up for his stop and as he gets off, he turns to M.D.K. and points at him.
Old Man: “You are what is wrong with the youth of today. No respect for anybody.”
He gets off with a shake of his fist while the rest of the bus cheer the old man before continuing to glare at M.D.K. without saying a word. M.D.K. stands up and turns to the passengers on the bus.
M.D.K.: “You see, all of you epitomise perfectly how the sheep of this world drift by. Not a single one of you would dare to say anything but comfort yourself in that you gave me a dirty look and will write in your blogs and diaries later what a nasty man while you think up a hundred and one ways in how you would like to confront me yet not a single one of you have the fucking minerals to do so.”
He points at the pregnant woman.
M.D.K.: “Look at you, you didn’t have the fucking gumption to ask me to stand up, you simply stood there and stared at me while expecting me to do everything.”
Woman: “I’m pregnant!”
M.D.K.: “How do I know that you are pregnant and not just a fat girl. Imagine I’d stood up and given my seat to you and you were just a fatty who would then run to her feminist fucking friends to demonise me even more.”
He paces the bus while maintaining his balance to continue to speak.
M.D.K.: “That is what is wrong with this world and especially the world I inhabit right now… Too many fucking passengers. It’s that entitled attitude that alters perspective and throws people off of my game. It did it to me once before but it won’t happen again especially not with the biggest passenger in the match at Summer Madness…”
The cameras he is using to deliver his promo are the CCTV camera dotted around the bus as his target changes from the passengers of the bus, to the passenger of the Main Event at Summer Madness.
M.D.K.: “Alyce, you know how I feel and you know how much I love you, but can you honestly stand before me at Summer Madness and tell me that you truly deserve to be competing for the World Heavyweight Championship. Tell me that you have done anything to make your place here remotely deserved. The pretty boy is an entitled fuck, but at least he has put it out there that he has earned it. Hell, even the fucking vegetable in trunks has a genuine claim to be standing in that ring opposite me but you? Tell me what you have done in the past couple of months to be mentioned in the same breath as me when it comes to the gold of the WGWF. Like every one of these mouth breathing fucks in this bus, you have become a passenger riding the coat-tails of my dominance and clutching onto that one time that you beat me 1-2-3 in the middle of the ring.”
“Since then, what you have been able to do to genuinely stake a claim to World Heavyweight glory off of your own name? Take away the Royal Court, take away my legacy and domination and what have we got in this partnership that YOU bring into the mix? Jackdaw, Lunacy and Maylock? Those goombahs are ten a penny sweety, your devious mind? A fraction of the combustion engine of hate that is ticking in here (he points to his temple) right now. Some might say that you are not just a pretty face but after the past couple of months since Wrestle Wars, you pretty much are just a pretty face and have been acting like a fucking cheerleader for me as I coasted back to the top of the mountain once again. You have been a fine companion as I have ascended to the top of this industry once again and you have been a fine partner outside of the ring. I have never felt such little contempt for an individual in my lifetime to be perfectly frank with you but as a competitor? As a rival? As a contender for MY WGWF World Heavyweight Championship. The only way - if you are truly honest with yourself and with me - that you will ever hold that championship is if you have to hold it for me while I lace up my boots because let’s be honest, based on the past couple of months, you aren’t even fit to do that for me are you?”
“You have coasted by on MY name for months now and I can’t hate you for it. I can’t criticise you for it because if it makes you relevant, then who am I to stop the good things going to my queen. You had a Main Event at the grandest stage in all of the WGWF and what did you do? You gimmicked it, toyed with it and turned it into a fucking circus which is against the pure spirit of Wrestle Wars where the talent does the talking. And then… even when you created your own fucking match… with your own fucking rules… you still couldn’t fucking win could you?”
He laughs and bites down on his lip.
M.D.K.: “But that’s what you do don’t you? You compensate for your lack of ability by masking it in a variety of ways. Whether that is aligning with the best of the best or by throwing a topsy-turvy world out there to throw your adversaries off of their game. You mask your mediocrity in any damn way you can and that will work nine times out of ten. But when that tenth time runs the risk of stopping me from getting what I want… then you are going to be falling short by a long, fucking way. You use your feminine whiles to get what you want. Like that fat bitch there (he points at the pregnant woman) you use your weaknesses to your advantage.”
“It worked with me once didn’t it? I was like a wolf in a Warner Bros. Cartoon and I was thirsty for a little taste of your forbidden fruits when we got thrown together in the ring and you beat me in the middle of that ring. It put the world on notice and it made the powers that be sit up and take notice that you could be somebody to keep an eye on. The money men rubbed their hands together because they thought they had another Jocelyn Camden on their hands, they thought they had a female talent that was marketable as anything and would print money for them. In a way, they were right because you have the merchandise, the adulation and the main event spots to show for it. But how much of that is because of you… and your ability… and your name… and your reputation… and your charisma…”
He bites his lip as he ponders if he has gone too far. He knows they had an agreement to not hold back when it came to the biggest prize in this industry but he can’t help but feel bad. He swallows that inkling of guilt though as he knows that were he to hold back, and she were to win, then he would have prophesied it all and it would be a moment where he would not relish being right. He carries on regardless.
M.D.K.: “You see, where the comparisons with Jocelyn start and end is with the fact that you are a pair of tits that that throw a mean suplex. Jocelyn became an icon of this industry by carving through the opposition and being frankly better than anybody that dared step into her path. You on the other hand, have made a name for yourself as “Mrs M.D.K.” and while that doesn’t bother me, what has pissed me off is that you have done NOTHING to counter that argument that has been levelled at you time after time after fucking time. The common comment is always how you’re a whore, my fuck-toy or just a glorified valet and having watched you capitulate in the ring over and over again, I can’t help but feel that they may be right. Week after week, abject failure after abject failure and all you can do it hope that your feminine charms will keep pushing you onwards and upwards. Well sweety, at Summer Madness, that train is getting derailed.”
“You haven’t been able to face me in person properly in weeks now. It’s as though you’ve known that upon your encouragement, I won’t be holding back and these truths are going to cut deeper than anything that Slater and the Potato will vomit up at you. In Paris you were distant, in Barcelona you were vague and in London, you have been non-existent. What happened to the tall tale telling, pet shop breaking minx that I was drawn towards. I was drawn to you Alyce because you were something special. Unlike the swathe of ring rats that used to form an orderly queue outside my dressing room, you had a quality that drew me in but that fire has faded. Now… like every one of those ring rats, you look dead behind the eyes. The fight is fading, the fire is dying and the will is weakening. It’s as though you know that this is a futile endeavour for you once my name has been added to the equation.”
“So drink in the last days of Summer Alyce because this will be the last time I can see you anywhere near this belt as a competitor. Your Madness will end… as Summer Madness as I render you truly… and utterly…”
DING! DING!
He snaps his head to the side where the little old lady has rung the bell to request the bus to stop. The bus has arrived at one of the biggest railway stations in London; King’s Cross. He glowers at her and then thinks of everywhere he can go from here. He bundles past the old lady, steps off of the bus and heads into the station to head to wherever he sees fit.
+++
When the Lamb opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come and see!” I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was holding a pair of scales in his hand. Then I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, “A quart of wheat for a day’s wages, and three quarts of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!” (Revelation 6:5-6)
Part 3: The Black Ride of Famine
Thorpe Park - Britain’s biggest and best theme park sees tourists and thrill seekers flock to the rides through the year in a bid to find adrenaline kicks and to have fun with friends. The common sounds of all theme parks can be heard as M.D.K. walks through the theme park with an ice cream in his hand and a bored expression on his face. He looks at the youngsters and families here to find new lunatic highs with death defying roller-coasters with a vision of bewilderment on his face. He cannot seem to fathom how or why they are having so much fun as though it is an alien concept to him. He finishes his ice cream and takes a comfort blanket from a child to wipe his hands before tossing it to the floor and strolling on. He needed a distraction after the unpleasant business on the bus. He didn’t enjoy tearing his love to pieces but it was necessary in his bid to regain what is rightfully his. He wasn’t done yet though for an event such as this requires more than character assassination of one person.
He continues to walk along and then gets distracted by a noise. He looks up and sees it; Swarm. A wing roller-coaster that loops and dips at terrifying speeds leaving riders screaming in terror and laughing with ecstasy. M.D.K. looks at the queue and shakes his head before brushing past the queue and reaching into his pocket and handing the ride attendant a bracelet from his pocket which he collected earlier. With a nod towards M.D.K., the attendant, invites M.D.K. ahead of the last few people in the queue and asks the four teenagers at the front of the ride to climb off. They protest and eventually oblige as their carers help them off the ride and guide them back into their wheelchairs as M.D.K. straps himself in while the other riders glower and glare at him in what could be a reconstruction of his bus ride earlier.
The ride starts with a steep incline and everybody looks forwards with wide-eyed anticipation and apprehension and then at the top, the entire ride twists and then we are treated to a sight rarely seen; an excited M.D.K. laughs and roars with joy as the ride continues and the face on camera captures his unbridled joy for this ride. The other riders scream and laugh along with him until the ride comes to an end and all of the riders climb off… except for M.D.K. who looks at the attendant.
M.D.K.: “Again.”
We are treated to another vision of M.D.K. on the ride as he is enthusiastic again as the ride goes through the same loops, twists and dips at high speed before coming to a halt. Again, at the end M.D.K. turns to the attendant…”
M.D.K.: “Again.”
This continues over and over again with M.D.K. riding the same ride over and over again with his joy slowly diminishing with each and every go around until - as day turns to night and the queue was fading along with the light of the day and the park was closing. As the ride was stopping now, there was no need for him to even say anything to the attendant as just a look from the king of the WGWF was enough to restart the ride which he was now experiencing on his own in silence save for the trundle of the roller-coaster. As it comes to a stop this time, the attendant is flanked by security and has a nervous expression on his face.
Attendant: “Err… sir. The park has now closed and I have been told, we can’t run the ride any further for you. I’m so sorry…”
M.D.K.’s face becomes clouded and ashen as the fury starts to float over him…and then as suddenly as it appeared, he swallows it down and offers all of them welcoming party a smile.
M.D.K.: “Of course, we all have homes to go to…”
They are all clearly surprised by this reaction but M.D.K. simply leaves the ride with a little wobble in his legs from being sat down for such a long time but eventually finds his bearings and balance and starts to walk through the empty theme park at dusk and looks at the camera as he slips his hands into his pockets before speaking.
M.D.K.: “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result. For the past eighteen months potato boy, you have tried over and over again to beat me and have fallen short whether that is physically… and even when you think you have beaten me, I beat you mentally. But time and time again you come at me as though it is some rivalry I should be excited by. I don’t think I need to spell this out to any of you but clearly this part is aimed at one fat potato and the weariness that comes with getting one over you time and time and time again…”
“When I first encountered you… that time that I confronted Tristan and you were playing the role of is monkey butler and tried to get into my face, I was licking my lips in anticipation of going toe to toe with you. A physical specimen that many view as imposing with a short fuse and a lack of understanding would be something that I absolutely love. A beast of your size is fucking hard to move and so you have to evolve, adapt and think your way to victory. The first time I did that with you felt like an achievement given your stature and - I will grudgingly admit - your ability that defies your oafish frame.”
“Even the second time we faced off, I still had the butterflies of anticipation, the anxiety of trying to beat you… In fact, up until Wrestle Wars when it was becoming a little tiresome and once I made you say my fucking name in the centre of the ring, I thought you had gotten the message and realised that you were a beaten man and simply not that good. I forgot that your head is made from potatoes and that basic understanding and logic flies out of the window when it comes to you. You still think that you have some sway in demanding matches with me, you still think of me as somebody who is a great rival to you when in reality spud-boy, you are just a boxing heavy bag with arms and legs for me to out fight, out think and out wit at every given opportunity.”
“So now, like riding that roller-coaster for the hundred and forty-seventh time, the excitement is non-existent, the butterflies are long dead and the hunger to fight you has long since been sated. I can only beat you so many times Turnip Tits… I can only list a limited number of root vegetables to compare you to and I can only make you look like a fucking idiot on so many occasions. How many times do I have to make you look like a right royal cunt before you just give up and die?”
“You are a little like Alyce and you are in this match by association. You have the ignominy of being the shortest reigning two time WGWF World Heavyweight Champion with a combined reign of less than five minutes. Do you know what kind of fucking joke that makes you out to be in all honesty? I have thrown you a bone time and time again but the reason I have always sought to stop your opportunities from happening is because you REALLY don’t deserve them do you? I mean you got handed a World Title opportunity at Tristan after I had beaten your pathetic arse at Wrestle Wars as though you are a Make-A-Wish kid who has to be handed opportunities on a platter because your insipid, cretinous carcass can’t earn them off of your own volition.”
“You know why you won the title for thirty seconds in Paris? Because the powers that be BEGGED me to go easy on you and make it competitive. They were so sick of the run of the mill beatings I was dishing out to you, they realised that nobody wanted to watch a charity squash match over and over again and so I did what was for the good of the company and I pulled my punches, I went out to that ring and put half of my ass into a match that on a day when I would give just an ounce of a fuck, you wouldn’t have a hope in hell would you?”
“I know exactly what you are going to come out with though don’t I Lackey? You’re going to huff and puff and stick out your chest and try and no-sell any of the things I say like it doesn’t bother you and that… that right there is why you will never be anything more than a nearly man and a gateway to the upper echelons of this company. That is why you will always be waiting for the elevator to take you to the penthouse and it never will for a mortal like you.”
“The art of this industry is humility. Take what you have, accept your flaws and work with them. It’s accepting your faults that sets the bar between superstars and icons of the industry. It’s why Chris Page is still working at an elite level like I am over a decade later and why Paul Frost and his nauseating God Complex is nowhere to be scene when he isn’t winning. I’m a self-centred, conceited arse-hole with delusions of grandeur. I play management like a fiddle and I have little respect for anybody. I would sell my grandmother’s kidneys to have gold around my waist and I am unscrupulous in who I tread on I on my way to the top. I have an ego the size of Russia and I am a veteran sitting pretty in the main event with a sense of entitlement which is everything wrong with this industry but I accept that, embrace that and use it to strengthen who I am and the character that I bring out each and every week.”
“At Wrestle Wars, I gave you the opportunity to grab the brass ring at Wrestle Wars when I took your character and dissected it in a way that had never been done before. I took your past, your present and your future and tore it to pieces in front of the world. Did you use that to fuel your rage? Did you come out like a man who had had his entire being humiliated in front of a global audience? Did you accept the magnitude of our match for what it was, on the grandest stage of them all and turn it into something special?”
“Or did you just shrug your shoulders and no-sell it like a complete and utter bitch? Your two-dimensional arse doesn’t warrant my attention in all honesty but you have been thrown into this match and keep on being tossed into my path like some Down Syndrome speed hump to try and slow down my career and to try and make you relevant. You still aren’t though are you? After blockbuster matches with me, with James Raven and with Slater, you still can’t generate half a fuck with those fans can you? They don’t pay to see you do they? They didn’t come to Wrestle Wars to watch you did they? Even though our war was the highest rated match at Dub-Dub 12, it wasn’t because of you was it? It wasn’t due to your dynamic personality, your technical wizardry or your sparking personality. It’s because I dropped a sickening amount of money into delving into your history to create a tapestry of your past and make our match-up even more entertaining and what did you do? What did you say?”
“Meh…”
“You had the audacity to act like it didn’t irk you. Like me saying the names that used to rile you up don’t bother you any more. Like me saying Jessica no longer gets to you. Like me being better than you doesn’t eat you alive any more when we all know the truth don’t we? You resent all that I am and all that I stand for. You loathe my success, my charisma and my natural given talent and that envy makes you act like a spoilt little kid didn’t it? I have so little respect for you that I have never even respected you enough to mention your fucking name and yet you still don’t change your emotions do you? The only time I have seen you show an ounce of emotion was after Tristan tore you to pieces and spelt out some home truths to you at the Rumble to effectively end your friendship and you were everywhere in the backstage, jumping up and down beating your chest all butt-hurt over what he said to you. I mean you even fucking tried to hold out an olive branch to me when he spouted that out didn’t you? So out of your joint was your nose, that you dropped me a message to ask if I would join forces to take him out with you. You had visions of some multi-dimensional, fake versions of ourselves, preposterous bullshit that I politely ignored because it was so fucking cringe-worthy…”
“Like I would want to align myself with yet another leech of my talent and reputation. What would I gain from it? I can beat you on my own, I can beat Slater on my own… it’s something that eludes both of you doesn’t it? But here’s the best bit… you will sit there, busting out some World of Warcraft environment, or you’ll hope that Dorling can keep you safe or offer you a few tips in beating me of your own volition without Alyce fucking up, or Slater getting involved. I mean… beating me. Fair and square in a match where I give 100%. Dorling has done it in the past, if Dorling offers your his nail clippings, they would contain more charisma and ability than you have in your entire fucking being.”
He smirks and shakes his head.
M.D.K.: “I’m picturing you watching this now. Box of Kleenex in one hand as you won’t know whether to cry or wank over the glory of this video and the other one with your phone in hand messaging everyone that you know to ask whether you think what I am saying is right or fair when you know damn well that the reason my words are hurting you so much is because they are the stone, cold truth.”
“You keep making up your own history though Lackey. You want to think that you haven’t lost to me, when I made you fucking quit in the middle of the ring. There’s a reason why it’s recognised as a humiliation monkey boy and that’s because you got on a microphone in front of millions of people and conceded defeat to me. You gave in and submitted to my will like the submissive cuckold you are.”
“I bet you even offered to clean Jessica up and send letters of thanks to every single one of her rapists for taking her closer to an orgasm than you ever would have managed in your impotent little existence. So pathetic are you, that you actually will count the combined five minutes as champion and pose as a former champion won’t you?”
“People have asked me if I have crossed a line in some of the things that I have said to you over the past year, they have insinuated that I may have gone too far in what I have said and done but because you are so piss poor at reacting to anything, you simply allow me to push and push and all the while you cry on the inside and like those spastics on the roller-coaster, you dribble, shit your pants and do fuck all time and time again.”
“But please Lackey, harp on about now having an actual pin-fall victory over me, speak of how the crowd went… well they didn’t give a shit, so shall we say the crowd went mild for your ‘achievement’ and it was only as I got one over on you straight away that you have something else to bitch and moan about. But go ahead kid, you cheep on like a little bird about how I keep on screwing you over. The reality is I am doing you a favour because the harsh reality is that you are simply not good enough to be presented to the world’s media as the WGWF World Heavyweight Champion. Holding it for two minutes is one thing, but when you leave that arena, they expect you to carry out interviews, do public appearances and pose for posters and magazine day in day out. You cabbage brains just don’t have what it takes to be THE man. It’s not too much of a sleight on you. It’s just a fact.”
“Most people will accept their place in life. You should just accept that you are there to play the role of generic big man number 136, accept your place in life and accept the fact that you are truly… and utterly…”
BUZZ BUZZ!
M.D.K. looks at his phone and smiles as he sees that his next ride has arrived. He looks at it as it arrives at the gates of the theme park but we can’t see it yet. We can only see his smile as the scene fades.
+++
When the Lamb opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, “Come and see!” I looked and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine, and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth. (Revelation 6:7-8)
Part 4 - The Pale Ride of Death
Morning. And in the UK when you have had a sunny day, a cool night follows and then in the right places, the dewy ground can make for a foggy morning and that is what we have. A foggy, Sunday morning in London that is deathly quiet. Think 28 Days Later quiet. The streets around Wembley are deserted and silent broken only by what can be considered a distant clip-clop.
The noise draws nearer as the camera closes in a little on Wembley Way - a large street that leads up to the venue that will be hosting Summer Madness in 24 hours. The stalls are not even set up but the banners promoting the event hang from every lamp-post along the lane. The clip-clop sound draws nearer and from the tunnel leading towards the stadium, an astonishing vision appears from the bridge.
A horse drawn hearse appears being pulled by four beautiful pale coloured horses. People living in the neighbouring flats look on in amazement as the carriage makes it’s way down to the stadium along the flagstone lined street. An old man dressed in black guides the horses with a top hat atop his head while dressed like a Victorian undertaker and standing atop the hearse as it trundles behind the four horses is none other than M.D.K. who holds his arms out at the camera as the carriage draws towards it and offers a mock curtsey.
M.D.K.: “Never say that I don’t like to make an entrance…”
He tips his top hat as the carriage reaches the slope and two stadium workers open a pair of large gates that open up a path for the carriage to make its way directly onto the pitch. The arena has yet to be set up fully for the event yet with the ring being the main part that has been erected in the middle of the pitch. Wembley Stadium is the home of English football (soccer to our transatlantic cousins.) and is iconic for anybody living in the UK that follows a sport of some description. Despite his persona of an utter asshole, M.D.K. can’t help but look at the arch of Wembley with wide-eyed excitement like a small child. He snaps back into character quickly though as the carriage trundles down a couple of steps and M.D.K. is forced into holding his balance and a sneer creeps across his face.
M.D.K.: “Watch where you’re fucking going!”
The rider looks over his shoulder and nods in apology before coming to a stop in the goalmouth area. M.D.K. climbs down and puts a sneer on his feet but then looks down at the pitch and bites his lip, then looks back up at the camera and has clearly broken character as he smiles at the camera.
M.D.K.: “I’m sorry… I have to do this…”
He drops to his knees and kisses the turf in the penalty area before standing up and brushing himself down.
M.D.K.: “This was where my beloved football team scored to a play-off winning goal right here just a few short weeks ago so I had to just give thanks… Anyway… where was I?”
He walks over to the hearse and the driver has opened up the back and pulled the coffin to the front so it rests on the edge. M.D.K. caresses the mahogany coffin and takes a few moments beside it before looking up with a wicked twinkle in his eye.
M.D.K.: “My peons, pissants and peasants… you’re welcome and gathered here today to say good bye to the final grip on reality that Tristan Slater has had as we open up a lovely box… of home truths.”
He lifts the lid of the coffin and a mannequin with a Tristan Slater mask pops forward from the coffin. M.D.K. looks at his handiwork proudly and turns to the camera.
M.D.K.: “You see, Tristan Slater has tried for eighteen months now to be half the man that I am, he has tried everything in his power to get a reaction remotely in the realms of the nuclear heat that I receive each and every time I step into that ring. Love me or hate me, those fans learn how to feel all over again every time they set eyes on me. I can draw bile from the most serene of individuals, I can make a nun swear and I can do it by pushing the right buttons. It’s what I have done with you isn’t is Tristan? I have pushed you to where you are today haven’t I? I’ll be honest with you though Tristan, I just don’t get it…”
He climbs onto the hearse again and sits on the coffin as he continues.
M.D.K.: “I mean, you tried to be the good guy when I first burst back onto the scene and you tried to be something that you truly aren’t. You picked off the weak of the herd and you scampered out of Wrestle Wars 11 like a scalded cat. And then…”
He looks down with a fond smile again like earlier. Only this one is very much in character for him.
M.D.K.: “Madison Square Garden. Summer Madness. 2017. Do you remember it? You want to talk about the better man. You want to talk about you and I as though you are remotely on my level… Do you really want to remember the only time you have had the bollocks to go one on one with me?”
He points up at the big screen with a look of glee as the conclusion of their title match last year comes to a conclusion.
As it fades out, the camera pans down to a still grinning M.D.K.
M.D.K.: “For seventeen months, you were king of mountain. You had beaten the mediocrity that had been stacked before you and then I came along. I came back into the West Coast Rumble and I swept the opposition aside like dust in the wind. You want to talk about ducking people. You took the easy way out at Wrestle Wars by picking off the weak of the herd, you did the same at the Rumble this year with picking off the fucking cabbage and focusing all of your energy into me and then you push as hard as you can to have a title match with Alyce and Alyce alone because you were too shit scared to face me again as you knew the moment that you stepped into the ring with me, you would be losing that championship all over again. You know damn well that any time that you don’t have a runt of the litter to pick on or a lackey to hide behind then what are you?”
“You even tried to become the bad guy in order to try and leech off of the heat that I effortlessly generate week after week and where did that get you? Ask the fans, ask the powers that be… fuck it… ask anybody who will give you the time of day. Having you taking the title by pinning Cable at the Rumble was the worst decision in the history of the WGWF. It led to the most underwhelming gimmick filled abortion of a main event at Wrestle Wars, it led to a confusing run where even you didn’t seem to understand on what side of the scales of chaos you stood and kept running your mouth in denial eager for a match with me… what did I have to gain from such a thing? You… just like every other fucking mook in this federation has been felled by my hands. The plateau of perfection cannot get any higher, the bar is raised to such a height that nobody right now can come anywhere near me.”
“Let’s be frank Trissy… since Summer Madness, you’ve kinda lost your aura haven’t you fella. I mean, refusing to not use my ring name has already flown out of the window hasn’t it fuck-knuckle? Now you are calling me by my name in a desperate plea for me to make you remotely relevant again… You think that a moment in the spotlight with me - win or lose - will manage to allow you to be something significant again.”
“The best thing about it being an elimination match? There is nowhere for you to hide from me. You can pin the potato, you can pin my queen but it won’t get you what you yearn for so dearly. To get your hands on it, you have to beat me in the middle of that ring. 1-2-3… Something you haven’t done before. So what thinks that you can do it now? What makes you think that when you are standing in the ring with the three people you have crowbarred reactions from this year, you are going to have a big old target on you. You did want to try and be the bad guy didn’t you? You tried to be the anti-hero didn’t you? You tried to be the cocky good guy and it didn’t work. It’s almost as though my very presence and return created an identity crisis for you. You then tried to take the role of biggest asshole while all the while not realising that you always be number two to me.”
“Is that what it is Slater? Is this why you are so eager to take me on? To try and prove yourself to be something more than you appear to be? To try and climb out from my shadow and forge a legacy for yourself. Nobody gives a shit about your seventeen months do they T? Nobody is reminiscing about your reign, nobody cares about the wise cracking act you would put on and the only person who cared about you turning on the Mandingo Mongoloid was the melon headed oaf who you turned on. But when I beat you before, all people were talking about was me. When you pinned Frost to retain, when you pinned the potato to regain… all people were talking about was how you took the easy route. Fuck me, at Wrestle Wars, they didn’t give a shit about the clusterfuck carnival of the main event. All they could talk about was me making that vegetable scream my name… All they could talk about was seeing talent back in the WGWF. What they didn’t give a shit about was your poxy adventures in Wonderland. I had adventures in Wonderland once. It’s a great strip club in Las Vegas…”
“I mean, you can put your fingers in your ears and scream ‘la la la’ all you fucking want mate. At Summer Madness - in our only singles match - I beat you… CLEAN… in the middle of New York City. This year, I do it in my own back yard, in front of people who should boo me yet they won’t because I was born about 10 minutes from this very stadium. I am a London boy born and raised. I was brought up to be a tough son of a bitch who will fight to survive and hurt those I love to thrive and you know what… it got me this far… and at Summer Madness, while a three time champion has a nice ring to it… a four time champion would be even sweeter. Plus… It’s just another way that I have got another one up on you isn’t it?”
“So what’s with the coffin I hear you ask? Why are you in it? Am I claiming I will kill you at Summer Madness or something very weak? No… this… is to symbolise the death of the fight that you once had in you. I remember when I first set foot in a ring with you and I honestly looked at you like a worthy adversary. But I listen to you now, I watch you and the courage of your words had escaped you, the fight in your eyes has failed you and your passion has wilted. Are you jaded about being ‘just another member of the roster’ or is it that you are resigned to the inevitable conclusion of what will happen in that ring in 24 hours time?”
“You’re right that it will no doubt come down to you and me because… let’s face it, Alyce and the Aubergine aren’t fit to lace our boots but then what do you do? You know you can’t beat me one on one, you know you don’t have a lackey to hide behind. Sure, keep yanking on C2’s dick and he might acknowledge your existence but he sure as shit won’t help you tomorrow night. You turned your back on the cauliflower and burnt your bridges with that, Alyce can’t stand you and you stopped humanising me the moment you went the way of your monkey butler and you said my name like a cuckolded little bitch.”
“I don’t need to beat all of you at Summer Madness, I don’t need to beat two of you tomorrow night… but I might be the most devious prick in this industry, but I am the best… of the best at what I do. There is no place at the champion’s tablet for passengers, for repeat failures and for fallen stars and at Summer Madness, I will make sure that in front of eighty thousand fans in attendance and millions watching across the globe that I will render each and every one of you truly… and utterly…
Neigh!
One of the horse whinnies and M.D.K. instinctively turns and slaps it across its face. He then turns with a glare to the camera once again.
M.D.K.: “INFERIOR…”
He walks towards the exit door and turns back to the camera.
M.D.K.: “Oh and to let you know the destination of the title tomorrow night… just like football… It’s coming home…”
He strolls out of the arena with a tip of his hat as the scene fades out and a final video plays.
Part One: The White Ride of Conquest
A motorbike roars through a winding city street in the centre of London. It veers dangerously between vehicles through the evening traffic as it brushes with death with every screech of the tyres. The rider is clad in white leathers as it roars down a side street and continues on its journey before the wheels scream to a halt outside a jewellers whose alarms are in full alert. Within a heartbeat, a clown mask clad individual darts out of the store with a sawn off shotgun in one hand and a rucksack in the other. He hops onto the back of the bike as police sirens can be heard nearing the scene of the crime and the clown mask slaps his associate on the back and yells for them to go. The rider obliges and the bike speeds off as a police car arrives on the scene. The bike is able to take risks that the police car can’t though and it manages to pull into an alleyway after being pursued through the busy streets of the sprawling conurbation. It rounds into an industrial estate and continues to power away as the clown mask keeps checking over his shoulder to see whether the law enforcement are still nearby. He leans into the rider and shouts to make himself heard.
Clown: “We’ve fucking lost them! We’ve fucking lo-”
A loud honk of a car horn. A screech of tyres. A sound of metal on metal and the Go-Pro style camera that we were being treated to shows the sky and the ground in a spiralling repeat as the motorbike cartwheels across the road and up onto the curb before smashing into a shop front. The rider’s body tumbles like garbage in the wind before sliding along the concrete and his body jack-knifes horribly against a parked car while the man in the clown mask’s body flipped from the bike and is tossed into the air upon collision and thumps down through the windscreen of the car that collided with them. He is motionless and his arm flops out lifelessly and the rucksack he was holding tumbles from the bonnet of the car and falls to the street. The car door opens and a livid M.D.K. climbs out and looks absolutely livid at the state of his treasured E-Type Jaguar.
M.D.K.: “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”
The Crimson King of the WGWF places his hands to his head and stares at the devastation. The bonnet of his car is a crumpled mess, his windscreen is smashed and the bumper hangs limply into the road. The dress shoes of M.D.K. crunches against the broken glass from the windscreen and the headlights as he walks up to the rider and leans down to look at him. He flips up his visor and looks into the eyes of the rider and looks disgusted by what he sees. He stands up and gently with the heel of his shoe pushes his head away and walks back up to the clown mask man whose arm moves slightly and lets a groan out. M.D.K. walks up to him and tilts his head and smiles creepily at him before sitting down on the edge of the bonnet and lets out a deep sigh. The clown mask tilts his head towards M.D.K. a little and groans at him.
Clown: “Please… please help me…”
M.D.K. lets out a little chuckle and shakes his head.
M.D.K.: “That’s one thing I don’t miss about always living in this country. People are always expecting everything to be handed to them on a silver platter. The councils and government of this country try to give everything away to everybody whether they have earned it or not. They will be given houses, food, childcare, education and for those who demand more, they have glorified free supermarkets called food banks where they can pick up even more food without batting an eyelid. Look at you… Clearly you have done something you shouldn’t have and yet you expect for me to use my phone to call an ambulance where you will be taken to an NHS hospital, given free healthcare and then taken to a prison where you will be fed, watered and given a roof over your head for god knows how long. And then you have matey boy over there who will no doubt be given a free fancy funeral all coming out of the pockets of those who earn their livelihoods…”
Clown: “… Dan… is dead?”
M.D.K. places his finger to the clown’s lips and hushes him.
M.D.K.: “This isn’t your time to talk. Besides… do I look like a doctor to you? You see, I have to deal with people who think they are owed something each and every day. I have to face off with mere mortals that feel that they somehow entitled to have a piece of everything that I have. Since I returned to the WGWF, I have had a target placed on my back and I have had the world and his potato have been gunning for me. Fuelled by jealousy and false aspirations of grandeur, the entire WGWF has resented my place atop of the mountain of this company. I haven’t needed to hold the belt to be the main attraction of the company. I was the most watched match at Wrestle Wars, I am the most tweeted about superstar in this company and I am the face on the t-shirts, posters and in the fantasies of every wife, girlfriend and wide-eyed teenage girl as they make eyes at the ceiling while their ‘shoulder massager’ does magic for them.”
“I have taken that title as my own by beating the best of the best of the fucking best. I didn’t have to pick out the weak of the herd like others have done in order to do it and I certainly haven’t been beaten properly in order to relinquish the title and I always will be the Hall of Fame superstar who is still at the peak of his career over a decade later. This isn’t a peak with me because a peak is fleeting; this is more like a plateau of fucking perfection.”
Clown: “What… what are you talking about? I need medical assistance… Please…”
M.D.K.: “Of course you do! Peasants like you are always wanting!”
“Spare some change! I need some help! Save my baby’s life! Call for an ambulance!”
M.D.K. sighs and just looks exasperated as he leans down and pats the clown roughly across the face.
M.D.K.: “You see… if I help you… I have to help everyone don’t I? I would become a glorified fucking charity for every peon, peasant and piss-ant that comes up to me with outstretched hands begging me to throw them a bone. A title shot here, a tag partner there and a back up now and again and then what? Write out cheques to fork for a college fund, pay for rehab for yet another wrestling junkie, pay for a whore to get an abortion or maybe donate my time to a fucking Make-a-Wish kid? So no, if you don’t help yourself, then nobody will help you… Do you know who helped me get to where I am today?”
Clown: “I think I have internal bleeding…”
M.D.K.: “Nobody… I have achieved titles around the world, global recognition and I am a Hall of Fame superstar… I have the fans of the WGWF sucking on my balls to make sure that I don’t fuck off because in this day and age when you have superstars failing to turn up for shows, you have people using half of their arse week after week after poxy week and you have people taking their eye off the prize and they STILL expect to be standing in the ring with a man like me for a title as prestigious as the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship. You can line them up, put them alongside me and think that I will make them look like a fucking star. I’m drawing a line now though, the charitable side of me is cut off, the honourable side of me is dead. I’m not paid to make mortals look good, I’m not paid to put anybody over with the fans. I’m not here… every night, every week and every big show to put the arses on seats to make this fetid company money… And how do I get repaid? When I want to invoke my rematch after having MY title STOLEN by that glorified punching bag filled with chopped liver, do I get what I want? Or do I get fucked over and left without my gold?”
Clown: “Look fella… I’m sorry about your car… but please… call 999…”
M.D.K. sighs again and offers a sympathetic smile.
M.D.K.: “I’m talking! How fucking rude do you want to be? This is the problem with the unwashed masses. No manners because you were dragged up weren’t you… Bounced from foster home to foster home probably and never given a proper education. Anyway… I let that fat fuck have thirty seconds of glory before I took it back to where it rightfully belonged and what do you think they did? They vetoed my immediate fucking rematch leaving me holding my bollocks like some sort of… like some sort of fucking mortal! Like I was a run of the mill member of the company. Do they not recognise that I am fucking royalty in that place?”
“So not only do they make me fight the shaved bear once again, but they stick the pretty boy who can’t beat me despite all of his protestations… and not only that, they put the only woman to have ever understood me to try and stack the deck against me. They want me to carve through each of them in a bid to break down my chances of still being the once and true champion of this company come the end of Summer Madness… They think that by having my love, a nemesis and a general pain in my ass come up against me in one sitting that it will throw me off of my game. They think by putting people who they consider can get inside this.
(He points to his temple.)
“They think that they can keep stacking the deck and all they do it create a topsy turvy world where I end up looking like the sympathetic hero of the piece. So allow them to keep stacking the deck, allow the opposition to be in a mixture of denial and delusion for it will matter not when I leave them truly… and utterly.”
*Slump*
M.D.K. snaps out of his monologue and looks back towards the clown whose head has flopped backwards over the edge of the bonnet as his entire body has gone limp. In all honesty, he looks dead and M.D.K. pauses for a moment before shaking his head and takes his phone out of his pocket. He waits for a response at the other end before speaking.
M.D.K.: “Yeah hello? There’s been an accident. It’s looking quite serious to be honest. Two are majorly affected and will need emergency vehicles as soon as possible. Park Royal industrial estate in North West London… How long will it be? Thank you. Should I do anything? OK… I’ll wait.”
He hangs up and looks at the man and leans in.
M.D.K.: “Don’t worry… help will be here soon. You just… relax.”
He notices something sparkling in the corner of his eye and leans down to the rucksack. He opens it up and his eyes widen at a heap of jewellery inside. He picks up a necklace and runs it between his fingers. He smirks before looking at the motionless clown.
M.D.K.: “Thanks for this… I think we can call this your insurance payment.”
He reaches down and takes a handful from the bag and places it into his pocket. A large diesel engine rounds the corner and M.D.K. climbs off of the bonnet and hails the vehicle over. It’s a vehicle recovery truck. A worried looking mechanic climbs out.
Mechanic: “Hey man. You called about a breakdown… is everything OK? Has an ambulance been called for this blokes?”
M.D.K.: “Yeah… it’s all in hand… probably. Now please be careful loading my baby on. She’s to be treated like royalty.”
Mechanic: “Oh don’t worry sir, I’ll treat it as though it were my first born…”
M.D.K.: It’s far more important than any of your progeny…”
The mechanic’s shoulders slump as he obediently heads over to the Jaguar to measure it up and prepare for loading it onto his truck. He looks over at M.D.K. who is browsing his phone while he waits.
Mechanic: “Are you sure the ambulances are on their way? We’ll probably need the police too.”
M.D.K.: “Probably… I’ll ring again…”
He keeps browsing through his phone while he waits and suddenly a vehicle rounds a corner. M.D.K. walks over to the mechanic.
M.D.K.: “OK so my ride is here… If you can just get my car sorted, I’ll pay you handsomely.”
Mechanic: “What about the Old Bill?” [Writer’s note - ‘Old Bill’ = colloquial term for Police.]
M.D.K.: “Oh I’m sure I won’t have to pay the police off…”
Mechanic: “I think you should stay here…”
M.D.K.: “I think you should stick to what you do best…”
He climbs into the back of the car and makes another call that as the person on the other end answers, he has a warm smile spread across his face and he fiddles with the necklace in his hand.
M.D.K.: “Hello you… Are you at mine? I have a little surprise for you…”
+++
When the Lamb opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, “Come and see!” Then another horse came out, a fiery red one. Its rider was given power to take peace from the earth and to make men slay each other. To him was given a large sword. ( Revelation 6:3-4)
Part 2: The Red Ride of War
He unlocks the door to his London flat and steps through. He downgraded his property after a while of never actually spending any time in London and so his modest two bedroom Docklands flat would have to suffice while he was here. It certainly wasn’t living like a peasant when he was here. The view for starters was a sight to behold across the River Thames as across the sprawling metropolis. He drank down every ounce of the summer sunshine as an eventful mornign was turning to an afternoon and all of the fun that will come with it. M.D.K. had already had his fill of arse-holes for today but a part of him felt like he was nowhere near done. He smiles as he walks through the flat with the expectation of his beloved to pop out of one of the rooms. There was nothing though, no candles, no music and sure as hell no Alyce. He smile of expectation was starting to falter as he continued to explore each room of the penthouse before walking into the kitchen. On the counter-top, an opened bottled of wine stands redundant and alone with a glass beside it; its contents are almost completely guzzled. Underneath the lipstick stained glass is a note signed with a lipstick mark that is unmistakable to M.D.K.
I just can’t do this with you right now. There’s too much at stake. A xxx [/I]
He closes his eyes and swallows his disappointment hard before crumpling the note in his hand and tosses it onto the counter. He leans on the counter and allows himself a laugh as he pulls the necklace out of his pocket and looks at it intently before roaring in frustration and throwing it across the kitchen. He takes a deep breath and composes himself before bringing out his phone and opening Uber only to see that no cars are available. He sighs and then looks outside at a particular vehicle regularly trundling past and he narrows his eyes.
M.D.K.: “Oh… you’ve got to be fucking kidding me…”
London buses are recognisable around the world and synonymous with London. They are part of the capillary system of the capital and used by everybody… a sour-faced M.D.K. is one of those passengers on a packed commuter bus across London. He sits in what was the only available seat on the bus at the front as a variety of people jostle and bump into each other as the big, red beast trundles through the city streets. M.D.K. watches the world go by. They pass a police cordon where ambulances and emergency vehicles tend to an accident. It looks to be a motorbike accident as two individuals are tended to and the bike appears to have taken a nasty spill. There is no other car in sight and that makes M.D.K. smile a little until a shadow looms over him. He looks up from his seat and sees a frail old lady wobbling on the spot as she stares at an unmoved M.D.K. who simply stares through her. A middle aged woman across the aisle stands up and gives up her seat to the old lady and mumbles the word “wanker” under her breath while continuing to glower at the king of the WGWF. The Hall of Famer simply shakes his head wearily and continues to look out of the window as the bus passes many icons of Central London. It was moments like this that made him a little homesick. London was where he spent much of his youth and it might not have been the hard knock life that so many wrestlers choose to harp on about, it might not have featured fires, orphanages and evil twins but it made him into the man he is today.It might rub people the wrong way, it might not be socially accepted but there is no denial that it has been effective. He had competed in London before but never in an event of this magnitude. Never with so much at stake. Never with so much to lose.
His train of thought is broken again as a shadow once again eclipses his face and diverts his attention from the world going by. He looks up and a young lady stands before him. She’s in maternity wear, pushing a pushchair with a young child in it and her stomach is far out to the front to indicate that she is expecting with another child in the not too distant future. She glares at M.D.K. who remains seated and gradually the rest of the bus turn and stare at M.D.K. as one little old man reaches forwards with his cane and taps the window beside M.D.K.
M.D.K. turns to the old man and nods with a false smile spread across his face. The old man grumbles to himself and shakes his head sadly while the pregnant woman staggers and wobbles and struggles to maintain a vertical base. M.D.K. continues to look ahead while the typical British response to him is to tut and sigh and glare at him without confrontation. Eventually the old man stands up for his stop and as he gets off, he turns to M.D.K. and points at him.
Old Man: “You are what is wrong with the youth of today. No respect for anybody.”
He gets off with a shake of his fist while the rest of the bus cheer the old man before continuing to glare at M.D.K. without saying a word. M.D.K. stands up and turns to the passengers on the bus.
M.D.K.: “You see, all of you epitomise perfectly how the sheep of this world drift by. Not a single one of you would dare to say anything but comfort yourself in that you gave me a dirty look and will write in your blogs and diaries later what a nasty man while you think up a hundred and one ways in how you would like to confront me yet not a single one of you have the fucking minerals to do so.”
He points at the pregnant woman.
M.D.K.: “Look at you, you didn’t have the fucking gumption to ask me to stand up, you simply stood there and stared at me while expecting me to do everything.”
Woman: “I’m pregnant!”
M.D.K.: “How do I know that you are pregnant and not just a fat girl. Imagine I’d stood up and given my seat to you and you were just a fatty who would then run to her feminist fucking friends to demonise me even more.”
He paces the bus while maintaining his balance to continue to speak.
M.D.K.: “That is what is wrong with this world and especially the world I inhabit right now… Too many fucking passengers. It’s that entitled attitude that alters perspective and throws people off of my game. It did it to me once before but it won’t happen again especially not with the biggest passenger in the match at Summer Madness…”
The cameras he is using to deliver his promo are the CCTV camera dotted around the bus as his target changes from the passengers of the bus, to the passenger of the Main Event at Summer Madness.
M.D.K.: “Alyce, you know how I feel and you know how much I love you, but can you honestly stand before me at Summer Madness and tell me that you truly deserve to be competing for the World Heavyweight Championship. Tell me that you have done anything to make your place here remotely deserved. The pretty boy is an entitled fuck, but at least he has put it out there that he has earned it. Hell, even the fucking vegetable in trunks has a genuine claim to be standing in that ring opposite me but you? Tell me what you have done in the past couple of months to be mentioned in the same breath as me when it comes to the gold of the WGWF. Like every one of these mouth breathing fucks in this bus, you have become a passenger riding the coat-tails of my dominance and clutching onto that one time that you beat me 1-2-3 in the middle of the ring.”
“Since then, what you have been able to do to genuinely stake a claim to World Heavyweight glory off of your own name? Take away the Royal Court, take away my legacy and domination and what have we got in this partnership that YOU bring into the mix? Jackdaw, Lunacy and Maylock? Those goombahs are ten a penny sweety, your devious mind? A fraction of the combustion engine of hate that is ticking in here (he points to his temple) right now. Some might say that you are not just a pretty face but after the past couple of months since Wrestle Wars, you pretty much are just a pretty face and have been acting like a fucking cheerleader for me as I coasted back to the top of the mountain once again. You have been a fine companion as I have ascended to the top of this industry once again and you have been a fine partner outside of the ring. I have never felt such little contempt for an individual in my lifetime to be perfectly frank with you but as a competitor? As a rival? As a contender for MY WGWF World Heavyweight Championship. The only way - if you are truly honest with yourself and with me - that you will ever hold that championship is if you have to hold it for me while I lace up my boots because let’s be honest, based on the past couple of months, you aren’t even fit to do that for me are you?”
“You have coasted by on MY name for months now and I can’t hate you for it. I can’t criticise you for it because if it makes you relevant, then who am I to stop the good things going to my queen. You had a Main Event at the grandest stage in all of the WGWF and what did you do? You gimmicked it, toyed with it and turned it into a fucking circus which is against the pure spirit of Wrestle Wars where the talent does the talking. And then… even when you created your own fucking match… with your own fucking rules… you still couldn’t fucking win could you?”
He laughs and bites down on his lip.
M.D.K.: “But that’s what you do don’t you? You compensate for your lack of ability by masking it in a variety of ways. Whether that is aligning with the best of the best or by throwing a topsy-turvy world out there to throw your adversaries off of their game. You mask your mediocrity in any damn way you can and that will work nine times out of ten. But when that tenth time runs the risk of stopping me from getting what I want… then you are going to be falling short by a long, fucking way. You use your feminine whiles to get what you want. Like that fat bitch there (he points at the pregnant woman) you use your weaknesses to your advantage.”
“It worked with me once didn’t it? I was like a wolf in a Warner Bros. Cartoon and I was thirsty for a little taste of your forbidden fruits when we got thrown together in the ring and you beat me in the middle of that ring. It put the world on notice and it made the powers that be sit up and take notice that you could be somebody to keep an eye on. The money men rubbed their hands together because they thought they had another Jocelyn Camden on their hands, they thought they had a female talent that was marketable as anything and would print money for them. In a way, they were right because you have the merchandise, the adulation and the main event spots to show for it. But how much of that is because of you… and your ability… and your name… and your reputation… and your charisma…”
He bites his lip as he ponders if he has gone too far. He knows they had an agreement to not hold back when it came to the biggest prize in this industry but he can’t help but feel bad. He swallows that inkling of guilt though as he knows that were he to hold back, and she were to win, then he would have prophesied it all and it would be a moment where he would not relish being right. He carries on regardless.
M.D.K.: “You see, where the comparisons with Jocelyn start and end is with the fact that you are a pair of tits that that throw a mean suplex. Jocelyn became an icon of this industry by carving through the opposition and being frankly better than anybody that dared step into her path. You on the other hand, have made a name for yourself as “Mrs M.D.K.” and while that doesn’t bother me, what has pissed me off is that you have done NOTHING to counter that argument that has been levelled at you time after time after fucking time. The common comment is always how you’re a whore, my fuck-toy or just a glorified valet and having watched you capitulate in the ring over and over again, I can’t help but feel that they may be right. Week after week, abject failure after abject failure and all you can do it hope that your feminine charms will keep pushing you onwards and upwards. Well sweety, at Summer Madness, that train is getting derailed.”
“You haven’t been able to face me in person properly in weeks now. It’s as though you’ve known that upon your encouragement, I won’t be holding back and these truths are going to cut deeper than anything that Slater and the Potato will vomit up at you. In Paris you were distant, in Barcelona you were vague and in London, you have been non-existent. What happened to the tall tale telling, pet shop breaking minx that I was drawn towards. I was drawn to you Alyce because you were something special. Unlike the swathe of ring rats that used to form an orderly queue outside my dressing room, you had a quality that drew me in but that fire has faded. Now… like every one of those ring rats, you look dead behind the eyes. The fight is fading, the fire is dying and the will is weakening. It’s as though you know that this is a futile endeavour for you once my name has been added to the equation.”
“So drink in the last days of Summer Alyce because this will be the last time I can see you anywhere near this belt as a competitor. Your Madness will end… as Summer Madness as I render you truly… and utterly…”
DING! DING!
He snaps his head to the side where the little old lady has rung the bell to request the bus to stop. The bus has arrived at one of the biggest railway stations in London; King’s Cross. He glowers at her and then thinks of everywhere he can go from here. He bundles past the old lady, steps off of the bus and heads into the station to head to wherever he sees fit.
+++
When the Lamb opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come and see!” I looked, and there before me was a black horse! Its rider was holding a pair of scales in his hand. Then I heard what sounded like a voice among the four living creatures, saying, “A quart of wheat for a day’s wages, and three quarts of barley for a day’s wages, and do not damage the oil and the wine!” (Revelation 6:5-6)
Part 3: The Black Ride of Famine
Thorpe Park - Britain’s biggest and best theme park sees tourists and thrill seekers flock to the rides through the year in a bid to find adrenaline kicks and to have fun with friends. The common sounds of all theme parks can be heard as M.D.K. walks through the theme park with an ice cream in his hand and a bored expression on his face. He looks at the youngsters and families here to find new lunatic highs with death defying roller-coasters with a vision of bewilderment on his face. He cannot seem to fathom how or why they are having so much fun as though it is an alien concept to him. He finishes his ice cream and takes a comfort blanket from a child to wipe his hands before tossing it to the floor and strolling on. He needed a distraction after the unpleasant business on the bus. He didn’t enjoy tearing his love to pieces but it was necessary in his bid to regain what is rightfully his. He wasn’t done yet though for an event such as this requires more than character assassination of one person.
He continues to walk along and then gets distracted by a noise. He looks up and sees it; Swarm. A wing roller-coaster that loops and dips at terrifying speeds leaving riders screaming in terror and laughing with ecstasy. M.D.K. looks at the queue and shakes his head before brushing past the queue and reaching into his pocket and handing the ride attendant a bracelet from his pocket which he collected earlier. With a nod towards M.D.K., the attendant, invites M.D.K. ahead of the last few people in the queue and asks the four teenagers at the front of the ride to climb off. They protest and eventually oblige as their carers help them off the ride and guide them back into their wheelchairs as M.D.K. straps himself in while the other riders glower and glare at him in what could be a reconstruction of his bus ride earlier.
The ride starts with a steep incline and everybody looks forwards with wide-eyed anticipation and apprehension and then at the top, the entire ride twists and then we are treated to a sight rarely seen; an excited M.D.K. laughs and roars with joy as the ride continues and the face on camera captures his unbridled joy for this ride. The other riders scream and laugh along with him until the ride comes to an end and all of the riders climb off… except for M.D.K. who looks at the attendant.
M.D.K.: “Again.”
We are treated to another vision of M.D.K. on the ride as he is enthusiastic again as the ride goes through the same loops, twists and dips at high speed before coming to a halt. Again, at the end M.D.K. turns to the attendant…”
M.D.K.: “Again.”
This continues over and over again with M.D.K. riding the same ride over and over again with his joy slowly diminishing with each and every go around until - as day turns to night and the queue was fading along with the light of the day and the park was closing. As the ride was stopping now, there was no need for him to even say anything to the attendant as just a look from the king of the WGWF was enough to restart the ride which he was now experiencing on his own in silence save for the trundle of the roller-coaster. As it comes to a stop this time, the attendant is flanked by security and has a nervous expression on his face.
Attendant: “Err… sir. The park has now closed and I have been told, we can’t run the ride any further for you. I’m so sorry…”
M.D.K.’s face becomes clouded and ashen as the fury starts to float over him…and then as suddenly as it appeared, he swallows it down and offers all of them welcoming party a smile.
M.D.K.: “Of course, we all have homes to go to…”
They are all clearly surprised by this reaction but M.D.K. simply leaves the ride with a little wobble in his legs from being sat down for such a long time but eventually finds his bearings and balance and starts to walk through the empty theme park at dusk and looks at the camera as he slips his hands into his pockets before speaking.
M.D.K.: “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result. For the past eighteen months potato boy, you have tried over and over again to beat me and have fallen short whether that is physically… and even when you think you have beaten me, I beat you mentally. But time and time again you come at me as though it is some rivalry I should be excited by. I don’t think I need to spell this out to any of you but clearly this part is aimed at one fat potato and the weariness that comes with getting one over you time and time and time again…”
“When I first encountered you… that time that I confronted Tristan and you were playing the role of is monkey butler and tried to get into my face, I was licking my lips in anticipation of going toe to toe with you. A physical specimen that many view as imposing with a short fuse and a lack of understanding would be something that I absolutely love. A beast of your size is fucking hard to move and so you have to evolve, adapt and think your way to victory. The first time I did that with you felt like an achievement given your stature and - I will grudgingly admit - your ability that defies your oafish frame.”
“Even the second time we faced off, I still had the butterflies of anticipation, the anxiety of trying to beat you… In fact, up until Wrestle Wars when it was becoming a little tiresome and once I made you say my fucking name in the centre of the ring, I thought you had gotten the message and realised that you were a beaten man and simply not that good. I forgot that your head is made from potatoes and that basic understanding and logic flies out of the window when it comes to you. You still think that you have some sway in demanding matches with me, you still think of me as somebody who is a great rival to you when in reality spud-boy, you are just a boxing heavy bag with arms and legs for me to out fight, out think and out wit at every given opportunity.”
“So now, like riding that roller-coaster for the hundred and forty-seventh time, the excitement is non-existent, the butterflies are long dead and the hunger to fight you has long since been sated. I can only beat you so many times Turnip Tits… I can only list a limited number of root vegetables to compare you to and I can only make you look like a fucking idiot on so many occasions. How many times do I have to make you look like a right royal cunt before you just give up and die?”
“You are a little like Alyce and you are in this match by association. You have the ignominy of being the shortest reigning two time WGWF World Heavyweight Champion with a combined reign of less than five minutes. Do you know what kind of fucking joke that makes you out to be in all honesty? I have thrown you a bone time and time again but the reason I have always sought to stop your opportunities from happening is because you REALLY don’t deserve them do you? I mean you got handed a World Title opportunity at Tristan after I had beaten your pathetic arse at Wrestle Wars as though you are a Make-A-Wish kid who has to be handed opportunities on a platter because your insipid, cretinous carcass can’t earn them off of your own volition.”
“You know why you won the title for thirty seconds in Paris? Because the powers that be BEGGED me to go easy on you and make it competitive. They were so sick of the run of the mill beatings I was dishing out to you, they realised that nobody wanted to watch a charity squash match over and over again and so I did what was for the good of the company and I pulled my punches, I went out to that ring and put half of my ass into a match that on a day when I would give just an ounce of a fuck, you wouldn’t have a hope in hell would you?”
“I know exactly what you are going to come out with though don’t I Lackey? You’re going to huff and puff and stick out your chest and try and no-sell any of the things I say like it doesn’t bother you and that… that right there is why you will never be anything more than a nearly man and a gateway to the upper echelons of this company. That is why you will always be waiting for the elevator to take you to the penthouse and it never will for a mortal like you.”
“The art of this industry is humility. Take what you have, accept your flaws and work with them. It’s accepting your faults that sets the bar between superstars and icons of the industry. It’s why Chris Page is still working at an elite level like I am over a decade later and why Paul Frost and his nauseating God Complex is nowhere to be scene when he isn’t winning. I’m a self-centred, conceited arse-hole with delusions of grandeur. I play management like a fiddle and I have little respect for anybody. I would sell my grandmother’s kidneys to have gold around my waist and I am unscrupulous in who I tread on I on my way to the top. I have an ego the size of Russia and I am a veteran sitting pretty in the main event with a sense of entitlement which is everything wrong with this industry but I accept that, embrace that and use it to strengthen who I am and the character that I bring out each and every week.”
“At Wrestle Wars, I gave you the opportunity to grab the brass ring at Wrestle Wars when I took your character and dissected it in a way that had never been done before. I took your past, your present and your future and tore it to pieces in front of the world. Did you use that to fuel your rage? Did you come out like a man who had had his entire being humiliated in front of a global audience? Did you accept the magnitude of our match for what it was, on the grandest stage of them all and turn it into something special?”
“Or did you just shrug your shoulders and no-sell it like a complete and utter bitch? Your two-dimensional arse doesn’t warrant my attention in all honesty but you have been thrown into this match and keep on being tossed into my path like some Down Syndrome speed hump to try and slow down my career and to try and make you relevant. You still aren’t though are you? After blockbuster matches with me, with James Raven and with Slater, you still can’t generate half a fuck with those fans can you? They don’t pay to see you do they? They didn’t come to Wrestle Wars to watch you did they? Even though our war was the highest rated match at Dub-Dub 12, it wasn’t because of you was it? It wasn’t due to your dynamic personality, your technical wizardry or your sparking personality. It’s because I dropped a sickening amount of money into delving into your history to create a tapestry of your past and make our match-up even more entertaining and what did you do? What did you say?”
“Meh…”
“You had the audacity to act like it didn’t irk you. Like me saying the names that used to rile you up don’t bother you any more. Like me saying Jessica no longer gets to you. Like me being better than you doesn’t eat you alive any more when we all know the truth don’t we? You resent all that I am and all that I stand for. You loathe my success, my charisma and my natural given talent and that envy makes you act like a spoilt little kid didn’t it? I have so little respect for you that I have never even respected you enough to mention your fucking name and yet you still don’t change your emotions do you? The only time I have seen you show an ounce of emotion was after Tristan tore you to pieces and spelt out some home truths to you at the Rumble to effectively end your friendship and you were everywhere in the backstage, jumping up and down beating your chest all butt-hurt over what he said to you. I mean you even fucking tried to hold out an olive branch to me when he spouted that out didn’t you? So out of your joint was your nose, that you dropped me a message to ask if I would join forces to take him out with you. You had visions of some multi-dimensional, fake versions of ourselves, preposterous bullshit that I politely ignored because it was so fucking cringe-worthy…”
“Like I would want to align myself with yet another leech of my talent and reputation. What would I gain from it? I can beat you on my own, I can beat Slater on my own… it’s something that eludes both of you doesn’t it? But here’s the best bit… you will sit there, busting out some World of Warcraft environment, or you’ll hope that Dorling can keep you safe or offer you a few tips in beating me of your own volition without Alyce fucking up, or Slater getting involved. I mean… beating me. Fair and square in a match where I give 100%. Dorling has done it in the past, if Dorling offers your his nail clippings, they would contain more charisma and ability than you have in your entire fucking being.”
He smirks and shakes his head.
M.D.K.: “I’m picturing you watching this now. Box of Kleenex in one hand as you won’t know whether to cry or wank over the glory of this video and the other one with your phone in hand messaging everyone that you know to ask whether you think what I am saying is right or fair when you know damn well that the reason my words are hurting you so much is because they are the stone, cold truth.”
“You keep making up your own history though Lackey. You want to think that you haven’t lost to me, when I made you fucking quit in the middle of the ring. There’s a reason why it’s recognised as a humiliation monkey boy and that’s because you got on a microphone in front of millions of people and conceded defeat to me. You gave in and submitted to my will like the submissive cuckold you are.”
“I bet you even offered to clean Jessica up and send letters of thanks to every single one of her rapists for taking her closer to an orgasm than you ever would have managed in your impotent little existence. So pathetic are you, that you actually will count the combined five minutes as champion and pose as a former champion won’t you?”
“People have asked me if I have crossed a line in some of the things that I have said to you over the past year, they have insinuated that I may have gone too far in what I have said and done but because you are so piss poor at reacting to anything, you simply allow me to push and push and all the while you cry on the inside and like those spastics on the roller-coaster, you dribble, shit your pants and do fuck all time and time again.”
“But please Lackey, harp on about now having an actual pin-fall victory over me, speak of how the crowd went… well they didn’t give a shit, so shall we say the crowd went mild for your ‘achievement’ and it was only as I got one over on you straight away that you have something else to bitch and moan about. But go ahead kid, you cheep on like a little bird about how I keep on screwing you over. The reality is I am doing you a favour because the harsh reality is that you are simply not good enough to be presented to the world’s media as the WGWF World Heavyweight Champion. Holding it for two minutes is one thing, but when you leave that arena, they expect you to carry out interviews, do public appearances and pose for posters and magazine day in day out. You cabbage brains just don’t have what it takes to be THE man. It’s not too much of a sleight on you. It’s just a fact.”
“Most people will accept their place in life. You should just accept that you are there to play the role of generic big man number 136, accept your place in life and accept the fact that you are truly… and utterly…”
BUZZ BUZZ!
M.D.K. looks at his phone and smiles as he sees that his next ride has arrived. He looks at it as it arrives at the gates of the theme park but we can’t see it yet. We can only see his smile as the scene fades.
+++
When the Lamb opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, “Come and see!” I looked and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him. They were given power over a fourth of the earth to kill by sword, famine, and plague, and by the wild beasts of the earth. (Revelation 6:7-8)
Part 4 - The Pale Ride of Death
Morning. And in the UK when you have had a sunny day, a cool night follows and then in the right places, the dewy ground can make for a foggy morning and that is what we have. A foggy, Sunday morning in London that is deathly quiet. Think 28 Days Later quiet. The streets around Wembley are deserted and silent broken only by what can be considered a distant clip-clop.
The noise draws nearer as the camera closes in a little on Wembley Way - a large street that leads up to the venue that will be hosting Summer Madness in 24 hours. The stalls are not even set up but the banners promoting the event hang from every lamp-post along the lane. The clip-clop sound draws nearer and from the tunnel leading towards the stadium, an astonishing vision appears from the bridge.
A horse drawn hearse appears being pulled by four beautiful pale coloured horses. People living in the neighbouring flats look on in amazement as the carriage makes it’s way down to the stadium along the flagstone lined street. An old man dressed in black guides the horses with a top hat atop his head while dressed like a Victorian undertaker and standing atop the hearse as it trundles behind the four horses is none other than M.D.K. who holds his arms out at the camera as the carriage draws towards it and offers a mock curtsey.
M.D.K.: “Never say that I don’t like to make an entrance…”
He tips his top hat as the carriage reaches the slope and two stadium workers open a pair of large gates that open up a path for the carriage to make its way directly onto the pitch. The arena has yet to be set up fully for the event yet with the ring being the main part that has been erected in the middle of the pitch. Wembley Stadium is the home of English football (soccer to our transatlantic cousins.) and is iconic for anybody living in the UK that follows a sport of some description. Despite his persona of an utter asshole, M.D.K. can’t help but look at the arch of Wembley with wide-eyed excitement like a small child. He snaps back into character quickly though as the carriage trundles down a couple of steps and M.D.K. is forced into holding his balance and a sneer creeps across his face.
M.D.K.: “Watch where you’re fucking going!”
The rider looks over his shoulder and nods in apology before coming to a stop in the goalmouth area. M.D.K. climbs down and puts a sneer on his feet but then looks down at the pitch and bites his lip, then looks back up at the camera and has clearly broken character as he smiles at the camera.
M.D.K.: “I’m sorry… I have to do this…”
He drops to his knees and kisses the turf in the penalty area before standing up and brushing himself down.
M.D.K.: “This was where my beloved football team scored to a play-off winning goal right here just a few short weeks ago so I had to just give thanks… Anyway… where was I?”
He walks over to the hearse and the driver has opened up the back and pulled the coffin to the front so it rests on the edge. M.D.K. caresses the mahogany coffin and takes a few moments beside it before looking up with a wicked twinkle in his eye.
M.D.K.: “My peons, pissants and peasants… you’re welcome and gathered here today to say good bye to the final grip on reality that Tristan Slater has had as we open up a lovely box… of home truths.”
He lifts the lid of the coffin and a mannequin with a Tristan Slater mask pops forward from the coffin. M.D.K. looks at his handiwork proudly and turns to the camera.
M.D.K.: “You see, Tristan Slater has tried for eighteen months now to be half the man that I am, he has tried everything in his power to get a reaction remotely in the realms of the nuclear heat that I receive each and every time I step into that ring. Love me or hate me, those fans learn how to feel all over again every time they set eyes on me. I can draw bile from the most serene of individuals, I can make a nun swear and I can do it by pushing the right buttons. It’s what I have done with you isn’t is Tristan? I have pushed you to where you are today haven’t I? I’ll be honest with you though Tristan, I just don’t get it…”
He climbs onto the hearse again and sits on the coffin as he continues.
M.D.K.: “I mean, you tried to be the good guy when I first burst back onto the scene and you tried to be something that you truly aren’t. You picked off the weak of the herd and you scampered out of Wrestle Wars 11 like a scalded cat. And then…”
He looks down with a fond smile again like earlier. Only this one is very much in character for him.
M.D.K.: “Madison Square Garden. Summer Madness. 2017. Do you remember it? You want to talk about the better man. You want to talk about you and I as though you are remotely on my level… Do you really want to remember the only time you have had the bollocks to go one on one with me?”
He points up at the big screen with a look of glee as the conclusion of their title match last year comes to a conclusion.
Tristan slowly starts to roll back over to his chest where he starts to push his self up to his knee's before managing to reach a vertical base. Slater staggers towards MDK where he reaches down picking the Challenger up off the mat. Tristan places MDK in position for the Glorious Pile-driver only to have it countered with a back body drop! Slater lands hard on his back as MDK drops to both knee's before stepping back up to a vertical base where he makes his way back into a neutral corner and as Tristan starts to sit up MDK explodes from the corner with a vicious running knee to the temple of Slater!
Diamond: Dear God!
MDK makes the cover!
REFEREE: ONE..... TWO..... THRE...
Slater kicks out!!
Baxter: Somethings gotta give!!
The fans are all standing and screaming out at the top of their lungs as now it's MDK who looks towards the referee wondering why this isn't over as he slowly begins to work his way to his feet. MDK turns his attention back towards Slater where he picks him up off the mat and takes Tristan back into the ropes, MDK fires Slater across the ring, Tristan bounces off the ropes as MDK drops his head! Slater looks for the GLORIOUS FLIP PILEDRIVER! MDK quickly counters into the HELL SHOT! MDK rolls Slater over making the cover!
REFEREE: ONE..... TWO..... THREE!!!!
DING... DING.... DING....
Masters: THE WINNER OF THIS CONTEST... AND THE NEW WGWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION... M.D.K!!!
The crowd is completely stunned as MDK is to both knee's where he is awarded the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship which he clutches at his chest before his knee's buckle and he drops to one knee.
Diamond: MDK has just won his second WGWF World Title AND ended the seventeen month undefeated streak of "Glorious" Tristan Slater!
Diamond: Dear God!
MDK makes the cover!
REFEREE: ONE..... TWO..... THRE...
Slater kicks out!!
Baxter: Somethings gotta give!!
The fans are all standing and screaming out at the top of their lungs as now it's MDK who looks towards the referee wondering why this isn't over as he slowly begins to work his way to his feet. MDK turns his attention back towards Slater where he picks him up off the mat and takes Tristan back into the ropes, MDK fires Slater across the ring, Tristan bounces off the ropes as MDK drops his head! Slater looks for the GLORIOUS FLIP PILEDRIVER! MDK quickly counters into the HELL SHOT! MDK rolls Slater over making the cover!
REFEREE: ONE..... TWO..... THREE!!!!
DING... DING.... DING....
Masters: THE WINNER OF THIS CONTEST... AND THE NEW WGWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION... M.D.K!!!
The crowd is completely stunned as MDK is to both knee's where he is awarded the WGWF World Heavyweight Championship which he clutches at his chest before his knee's buckle and he drops to one knee.
Diamond: MDK has just won his second WGWF World Title AND ended the seventeen month undefeated streak of "Glorious" Tristan Slater!
As it fades out, the camera pans down to a still grinning M.D.K.
M.D.K.: “For seventeen months, you were king of mountain. You had beaten the mediocrity that had been stacked before you and then I came along. I came back into the West Coast Rumble and I swept the opposition aside like dust in the wind. You want to talk about ducking people. You took the easy way out at Wrestle Wars by picking off the weak of the herd, you did the same at the Rumble this year with picking off the fucking cabbage and focusing all of your energy into me and then you push as hard as you can to have a title match with Alyce and Alyce alone because you were too shit scared to face me again as you knew the moment that you stepped into the ring with me, you would be losing that championship all over again. You know damn well that any time that you don’t have a runt of the litter to pick on or a lackey to hide behind then what are you?”
“You even tried to become the bad guy in order to try and leech off of the heat that I effortlessly generate week after week and where did that get you? Ask the fans, ask the powers that be… fuck it… ask anybody who will give you the time of day. Having you taking the title by pinning Cable at the Rumble was the worst decision in the history of the WGWF. It led to the most underwhelming gimmick filled abortion of a main event at Wrestle Wars, it led to a confusing run where even you didn’t seem to understand on what side of the scales of chaos you stood and kept running your mouth in denial eager for a match with me… what did I have to gain from such a thing? You… just like every other fucking mook in this federation has been felled by my hands. The plateau of perfection cannot get any higher, the bar is raised to such a height that nobody right now can come anywhere near me.”
“Let’s be frank Trissy… since Summer Madness, you’ve kinda lost your aura haven’t you fella. I mean, refusing to not use my ring name has already flown out of the window hasn’t it fuck-knuckle? Now you are calling me by my name in a desperate plea for me to make you remotely relevant again… You think that a moment in the spotlight with me - win or lose - will manage to allow you to be something significant again.”
“The best thing about it being an elimination match? There is nowhere for you to hide from me. You can pin the potato, you can pin my queen but it won’t get you what you yearn for so dearly. To get your hands on it, you have to beat me in the middle of that ring. 1-2-3… Something you haven’t done before. So what thinks that you can do it now? What makes you think that when you are standing in the ring with the three people you have crowbarred reactions from this year, you are going to have a big old target on you. You did want to try and be the bad guy didn’t you? You tried to be the anti-hero didn’t you? You tried to be the cocky good guy and it didn’t work. It’s almost as though my very presence and return created an identity crisis for you. You then tried to take the role of biggest asshole while all the while not realising that you always be number two to me.”
“Is that what it is Slater? Is this why you are so eager to take me on? To try and prove yourself to be something more than you appear to be? To try and climb out from my shadow and forge a legacy for yourself. Nobody gives a shit about your seventeen months do they T? Nobody is reminiscing about your reign, nobody cares about the wise cracking act you would put on and the only person who cared about you turning on the Mandingo Mongoloid was the melon headed oaf who you turned on. But when I beat you before, all people were talking about was me. When you pinned Frost to retain, when you pinned the potato to regain… all people were talking about was how you took the easy route. Fuck me, at Wrestle Wars, they didn’t give a shit about the clusterfuck carnival of the main event. All they could talk about was me making that vegetable scream my name… All they could talk about was seeing talent back in the WGWF. What they didn’t give a shit about was your poxy adventures in Wonderland. I had adventures in Wonderland once. It’s a great strip club in Las Vegas…”
“I mean, you can put your fingers in your ears and scream ‘la la la’ all you fucking want mate. At Summer Madness - in our only singles match - I beat you… CLEAN… in the middle of New York City. This year, I do it in my own back yard, in front of people who should boo me yet they won’t because I was born about 10 minutes from this very stadium. I am a London boy born and raised. I was brought up to be a tough son of a bitch who will fight to survive and hurt those I love to thrive and you know what… it got me this far… and at Summer Madness, while a three time champion has a nice ring to it… a four time champion would be even sweeter. Plus… It’s just another way that I have got another one up on you isn’t it?”
“So what’s with the coffin I hear you ask? Why are you in it? Am I claiming I will kill you at Summer Madness or something very weak? No… this… is to symbolise the death of the fight that you once had in you. I remember when I first set foot in a ring with you and I honestly looked at you like a worthy adversary. But I listen to you now, I watch you and the courage of your words had escaped you, the fight in your eyes has failed you and your passion has wilted. Are you jaded about being ‘just another member of the roster’ or is it that you are resigned to the inevitable conclusion of what will happen in that ring in 24 hours time?”
“You’re right that it will no doubt come down to you and me because… let’s face it, Alyce and the Aubergine aren’t fit to lace our boots but then what do you do? You know you can’t beat me one on one, you know you don’t have a lackey to hide behind. Sure, keep yanking on C2’s dick and he might acknowledge your existence but he sure as shit won’t help you tomorrow night. You turned your back on the cauliflower and burnt your bridges with that, Alyce can’t stand you and you stopped humanising me the moment you went the way of your monkey butler and you said my name like a cuckolded little bitch.”
“I don’t need to beat all of you at Summer Madness, I don’t need to beat two of you tomorrow night… but I might be the most devious prick in this industry, but I am the best… of the best at what I do. There is no place at the champion’s tablet for passengers, for repeat failures and for fallen stars and at Summer Madness, I will make sure that in front of eighty thousand fans in attendance and millions watching across the globe that I will render each and every one of you truly… and utterly…
Neigh!
One of the horse whinnies and M.D.K. instinctively turns and slaps it across its face. He then turns with a glare to the camera once again.
M.D.K.: “INFERIOR…”
He walks towards the exit door and turns back to the camera.
M.D.K.: “Oh and to let you know the destination of the title tomorrow night… just like football… It’s coming home…”
He strolls out of the arena with a tip of his hat as the scene fades out and a final video plays.