Post by "The Epitome" Mike Angelo on Dec 17, 2022 21:35:51 GMT -5
~ It's midnight in the desert. Shooting stars are darting across the sky as if arrows fired by God himself. I see myself in them, as well. A burning, magnificent beacon of pure power and energy. Some might see them as the instantaneous heat death of a rock, but other's see them opportunities to make a wish upon. That's where I see myself. With an opportunity to once again stack a claim for myself in this world. I just keep looking in all the wrong places all these years. But now I have finally, I think, found someplace that holds all the answers on how to reclaim what I have lost. I can't say for sure what first led me to this place, but a voice kept calling to me. His voice reached out from coast to coast and I heard it. I just had to finally stop and listen. And now I am here. In the desert.
The chaos of life is what drives me now. ~
Mike Angelo had driven out to this place the day before. Some small, inconsequential town somewhere in Nevada about two hours outside of Las Vegas. He was in search of an underground radio host named Bart Ringer in hopes that the man could help him find what it is that he was looking for. However, once he was able to track the man down, he was all but blown off for the night and had to sleep in the backseat of his rental car before giving it another go in the morning. He wasn't totally sure what it is that he hoped the man could help him with, but he felt like he had to keep trying. So he pulled himself out of the back seat, looked up at the sun in the sky as it began to rise for the day, and began walking towards one of the three trailers on Ringer's compound. Now that he was seeing the place for the first time in the light, it began to dawn on him just how run-down everything looked. The trailers all had various windows boarded up, some sections of the walls had duct tape on them, and the various antennae on the broadcast trailer were rusted or pieced together with scraps.
Mike Angelo: “What the hell am I doing here...”
He walked up the dry rotted wooden steps of the trailer Bart used as his “home” and gave the door a knock. The night before, Angelo was met with a wild-eyed older man yelling about someone following him, but today was a different story. The man opened the door and seemed much more relaxed than he had been the night before.
Bart Ringer: “Still here, huh? That's dedication, my friend. Come on it, let's talk.”
Mike Angelo: “I told you last night that I wasn't going to just drive back to Vegas after coming all the way out here.”
Bart Ringer: “You going to stay out there and cry, or you comin' in, dipshit?”
Angelo shakes his head and throws his hands up in defeat.
Mike Angelo: “Alright, alright.”
As he enters the trailer, he once again notices how oddly clean and orderly it is compared to the rest of the compound outside. Bart motions him to sit on a small couch in what could be considered the living room of the trailer. He sits opposite of Mike in an arm chair, and picks up a mug of coffee and his cellphone.
Mike Angelo: “So, uh...you going to ask me why I'm here, or is this kind of thing just normal to you?”
Bart Ringer: “You're a dense one, ain't you? You sent me an email about why you were coming here, you think I don't check my email?”
Mike Angelo: “Your website is hosted on Angelfire and the email address was an AOL one. I didn't think you'd ever even see it.”
Bart Ringer: “Well, much like myself, they only get better with age and work just as good as anything you can find nowadays, so what's your point?”
Mike Angelo: “Look...I don't know. But if you read my email, could we discuss it?”
Bart Ringer: “You say you're lost, huh? Looking for someone with a bit of wisdom to guide you in this journey of life? Lost everyone and everything else and hoping I can help you find it? Something along those lines, wasn't it?”
Angelo leans forward on the couch.
Mike Angelo: “Yeah, that's right. I just thought...”
Bart Ringer: “You thought that just because I'm open to all kinds of strange and unexplained things and not afraid to push the limits on the radio, that I'd somehow be able to help you on some weird pathetic journey or midlife crisis or whatever it is?”
Mike Angelo: “You know...it sounded like a better idea when I sent that message and before I got here. I'll just go, this was clearly a mistake.”
He goes to stand, but Ringer makes a kicking motion towards him to get him to sit back down.
Bart Ringer: “Nonsense. I haven't said no yet, have I? I don't know what it is you expect me to help you with, but I could use some help around here. In case you didn't notice, it's gotten kind of rundown. Partially for appearances so that people, the fed types, leave me alone and the other half because I had to fire George's worthless ass after he tried to steal my gig.”
Mike Angelo: “I'm not a handyman. I'm a professional wrestler. I have commitments.”
Bart laughs at the notion.
Bart Ringer: “Oh, so mister big shot is too good to help me out, but comes all the way out here from...where was it? Vancouver? To come ask me for help? That's rich!”
Mike Angelo: “Toronto. And I already said this was probably a mistake.”
Bart Ringer: “Seems like you've been making an awful lot of those the last few dozen years of your life. Look, you know as well as I do that what you said in the email was some kind of El Dorado pipe dream written by a guy who's not all there upstairs. I'm offering you the chance at some guidance in exchange for a little manual labor here and there. Hell, I might even let you help me out on the radio show. But it's a give and take sort of thing. Maybe it'll help clear your mind.”
Angelo sits back on the couch and seems to contemplate what the man has said before shaking his head in agreement.
Mike Angelo: “Fine. You win. I need a place to stay though, I'm not going to be driving out here from Vegas every time you need me to do something.”
Bart Ringer: “You sure do make a lot of demands for someone who came to me asking for help, ya know that? Is this a common thing in that wrestling nonsense you do?”
Mike Angelo: “You got a few hours to waste? I could fill you in on all the nonsense that is involved when it comes to the wrestling world.”
Bart Ringer: “I have all the time in the world, but let's save that for when I'm more inclined to giving a shit. You seen that other trailer out there? The one opposite to this one? You can stay in there. It ain't as nice as this one here, but I feel like you can make all nice and cozy if you tried. Besides, it's not like you have much personal property, wife probably took all that huh?”
Mike Angelo: “We haven't divorced, and what the hell, man?”
Bart Ringer: “I told ya before, I read your wiki page. Just trying to get a rise out of you. All I saw when I searched your name on Alta Vista was you acting all big and tough, yelling into a camera about something or another. Wanted to see some of that fire now that you're going to be working for me.”
Mike Angelo: “I don't yell, first of all. And Alta Vista? I figured I'd maybe be able to recapture some of my old self by talking to you, but I didn't think you'd literally be a blast back to 1999.”
Bart Ringer: “That's the best thing about terrestrial radio, my friend. It's just as good back then as it is now and always will be. You can reach a lot of ears with minimal effort. Something that I think you might be a fan of, considering what you do for a living. If you make any money at that nonsense anyway.”
Mike Angelo: “Did you not see the rental Ford Taurus out there? I'm obviously doing very well for myself.”
For the first time in the two interactions the pair have had together, they seemed to finally click and laugh. Mike takes his leave from Bart's trailer after saying that he accepts the deal and would need to just go back to his hotel and grab his things before returning back to the compound. Before leaving however, Angelo goes to the other trailer that would now be his temporary home to take a look at just what he was getting himself into. Just last year he had moved into an old TV studio in a basement of an ancient British electronics store and didn't think it could get much worse than that. But it apparently could. The inside of the trailer looked as though not a single person had stepped inside in over a decade. And was packed to the brim with boxes upon boxes of old files and logs of some kind. The small bedroom off the main part of the “house” was filthy and the mattress looked to be from the Reagan era. He had stayed in some pretty unpleasant places when on the road as a young wrestler trying to make it in the business, but this was by far the worst of the bunch.
Mike Angelo: “Well fuck...”
He had to stop and remind himself that this was what he needed. He needed the grit and grime. He needed the hardship and struggle. If he was going to ascend back to the place that he was back when he was on top of the wrestling world, he would have to force himself to once again have what it takes to claw his way back out of the muck. He had to remind himself that he was doing all of this for a purpose and a reason that he had yet to fully flesh out. Each step was calculated yet chaotic. A mantra that had become his life now. It was in that moment of thought that he realized he could use it to his advantage. He had been dictating things on his own ever since coming back to wrestling and now was no better time to continue doing that and taking advantage of things, and moments, when they best seemed fitting. So he pulled his phone out of his pocket, set it to record and placed it on top of a some boxes, opened up one of the beaten up set of blinds for some light, and began shooting a promo.
The Epitome: “I hope I made my intentions and my point clear, Riley. And to you too, Addison. I wasn't about to immediately start playing those Andrews games by beating my own niece in both of our debut matches for the company. You can claim to be her manager and just here to help her career out, but I know you better than anyone, Riley. You know that. And I know better than anyone just how big of an ego you have. You thought you could waltz in here under the guise of being here for her and right away try to get one over on me? I don't think so. I shut that shit down as quick as it needed to be, and I hope you realize that the both of you would be better off steering clear of Mike Angelo from this point forward. That was your one and only warning. I walked out on that foolishness because in-spite of what it may seem like, I still have a bit of heart left beating in my chest. A small bit of compassion for someone who I spent countless hours and time into making a better wrestler. Where were you back when she was just starting? How many times did you come down and watch her developmental matches? It's plain as day that you're only here now and only involved now because you think you can use it to your advantage. It shouldn't surprise me that you'd stoop that low, Riley, but it does. Again, that's your one and only warning. The next time, I won't be so forgiving, and I will take her out in the ring if I have to.
But you know what, I get it, man. I really do. You're washed up in life and people are starting to forget who you even are. I was feeling the same way. But you know the difference between you and I? I didn't try and use my daughter as an excuse to earn my way back into the business without having to put in the effort. Maybe some day you'll realize what kind of father that makes you and actually have the balls to put on a pair of boots again and step between the ropes, rather than just hang out on the outside of them trying to steal Addison's thunder. I put my own daughter through the same school as yours, and trained her just as much as I did yours, and you don't see me using her to get a rub now, do you? Sure, I may have came back right when she won the IIW Women's Title in her first ever PPV match, but I at least let her get to that point first. And it didn't take me long to make a name for myself in that place without using her to get there. You should give it a shot...be your own man. Fight your own battles. Rather than just being the usual sarcastic asshole you always are.”
Even though the desert air was still cool from the night before, the inside of the trailer was rather warm and he decided to take off his jacket before continuing, showing off the fact that he was wearing an officially licensed Lexi Gold shirt he bought from the merch stand at the last episode of Brawl.
The Epitome: “But you know what, I have much more important things to worry about. And nothing is more important than the World Heavyweight Championship. The letters in front of this one may be different, but the prestige of the title is all the same. It's a title that I haven't won since 2001. It's been literally over 21 years since I captured my first and only world title. Do you know how long 21 years feels like in this business? It may as well be a thousand years. There are few people who even remember that I won the belt that I won, though a couple of them are here in the WGWF now. But do you know what doesn't age? That feeling that I had the moment that the bell rang that night and I held my arms up in the air as the new Number One. I had finally reached the top of the mountain and staked a claim in the history books. And I realize that to a lot of people now, that's all it is and all it ever will be...history. That's why the WGWF title is so important now. It's a chance for me to recapture that glory that I had all those years ago. It's a chance for me to show the world that I am just as good now, if not better, than I was when I won my first world title. I know that I have what it takes, but I also know that I am going to have to step over...or in this case, throw out, each and every other wrestler foolish enough to get in my way during the West Coast Rumble.
And that includes such top tier talent as...Mystery Entrant #1? Cholo Santana? Ace Sky? Uh...Bam Miller? Oh wait, my persona favorite and hero...Mystery Entrant #2! How could I forget him and or her?! Actually, now that I think back to it and look at the talent this place as assembled...well, talent is maybe too strong of a word for most of them. If this is all that is going to stand in my way of recapturing what it is that I have been searching for all these years...well, lets just say that maybe the journey is going to be more enjoyable than the outcome for those others in the match. Because there is no way in this life or the next that I'd walk into a match like that, against these kinds of people, and not walk back out holding onto that World Title. It's just not in the cards, and anyone with a set of eyes can see that I'm just too good not to win. Which leads me to this week...a big time match for the chance to pick our number in the Rumble! How exciting! But here is the thing...It doesn't really matter what number I pick after I win. Because no matter if I come out first or I come out last, or someplace in between, I'm going to be the last one standing at the end of the night. I'm going to be the one who is crowned the champion and I will be the one star that this place desperately needs.”
Angelo pauses for a moment as if to rethink what he just said.
The Epitome: “Actually, that's not entirely true or fair. Because there is another star in the WGWF besides myself, and wouldn't you know...he's also in my match this week. Fred Debonair and I go back a long, long time. And if there is anyone here that I would happily call a star, it's him. We didn't break into this business together, but might as well have. Neither of us would be where we're at today if it weren't for the two of us teaming up together back in the summer of 2000 to form a stable with some like-minded young talent. Remember those days, Freddy boy? Good times, weren't they? Remember how even back then people could tell that the two of us had big, bright futures in this business? Remember how we told each other, that through thick and thin, we would always have each others backs in wrestling and beyond? Remember all those times you still fucked me over and only worried about yourself? Yeah, see, I didn't forget either. But it's all good now, right? We're going to both get into the ring together and the bloody history we have is just going to be that...history...right? Because, frankly, you're the only person in this match who I know can beat me, but you wouldn't do that to me, right? We're like brothers. Hell, we ARE brothers. And family means everything, doesn't it?”
He had a smile on his face for most of that, but it seemed to fade a bit towards the end.
The Epitome: “But Fred seems to always find himself wrapped up in bullshit with other people. Bullshit like CCPE, bullshit that just muddies the water. You know all about that kind of bullshit, don't you John Cable? Seems like you're the same kind of guy...the kind of guy who's too focused on getting involved in things that doesn't...involve him. You'd think that someone with your history that you'd be smart enough not to stay out of things. Now you want to get wrapped up in CCPE business, and for what? What do you have to gain from that? Nothing from what I can tell. But something tells me that you have a knack for getting yourself into situations that you shouldn't be in...maybe you're just that dumb...maybe you can't help yourself? Whatever it is, just be sure that you don't use this match as an excuse to get involved in my business moving forward. Seems like a simple enough request, but it's up to you to decide if you have it in your to follow it or not.”
He reaches begins to pace a bit back and forth while still in frame of the shot.
The Epitome: “You know who else doesn't seem smart enough to just go out to the ring and wrestle without making things worse for themselves than they need to be? Mark Cross. The Dragon, is it? You know, I knew a guy named The Dragon a long time ago...nice kid, was actually Japanese too, if I remember correctly. Sure, he wasn't some washed up old athlete that nobody knew or cared about before he became a wrestler like you, Marky Mark, but he was good in his own right. What is it about guys like you that always comes across so...uneducated? Former athletes turned pro wrestlers always seem to have a bit of brain damage, especially the football players. Which I suppose makes sense, you spend all that time getting hit in the head...and then are stupid enough to choose a profession where other people try and hit you in the head. Perhaps that's why any time I've seen you wrestle or see you talk, I just feel bad...kind of makes me want to make a donation to some head trauma foundation. But I don't have the time, or the money, for that kind of thing. So I guess I'll just have to contribute to the downfall of The Dragon and kick your damn head in.
But I might do the right thing and keep Samantha Vox from taking some of your blood and cerebrospinal fluid to make some kind of potion or whatever the hell it is Pagan's do. Sammy, Poison Ivy, what in the hell...or sorry, what in the forest, is going on with you? You don't even have a cool snake that follows you around, that's super lame. I'm not even going to waste my time talking about you, because you're nothing in my eyes. You're just a warm body in my way, and if you're the one that gets planted with the HighRoad, then so be it.”
He stops the pacing and looks directly at the camera once more.
The Epitome: “I want you all to listen and listen good. None of you have what it takes to stop me from taking another step towards my end goal. I didn't come back to wrestling just to prove to anyone that I could still hang. I came back to wrestling to capture what it is that is rightfully mine. The fame, the money, the pride, and everything in between. Of course I came back for that, what other reason would there be? Fred Debonair can beat me, but he won't. Mark Cross thinks he can beat me because he's a loud mouth, but he won't. John Cable thinks he can beat me, but I'm not sure he's smart enough to. Sammy Ivy...I mean Vox...well, she can't beat me, but still. I hope you all understand what you're getting into when you get into the ring with The Epitome. And if you don't, well...you're about to find out. The WGWF is about to find out. The rest of the wrestling world is about to find out. I will win this match, I will win the West Coast Rumble, and I will become the WGWF World Heavyweight Champion. You want to talk about reality? I am reality!”
He reaches back out and ends the recording, before sending it out to the WGWF media team for distribution.
~ Life is Chaos ~