Post by Dandy DiVito on Aug 16, 2019 20:59:09 GMT -5
Dandy DiVito sat in the catwalk of the rafters of the arena just before Carnage, wearing his now infamous black hoodie zipped all the way up and hood overhead. Yazmin stood behind him nervously looking over the edge to the arena floor a good 100 feet below.
Hesitantly, Yazmin muttered, “If we fell, we’d be dead.”
“Deader than dead. We’d be fuckin’ splattered.” Dandy replied, unnervingly.
“Why do we need to be up here? Can’t we go hide out somewhere backstage?”
“Nope.”
“Why?!”
“NO ONE looks at the catwalk during a show. Best hideout for my surprise.”
“Your plan is to attack Lockhart to force your way into a title match?”
“More or less.”
“What if he’s not champ?”
Dandy scoffed dismissively. “Uhhuh, sure.”
“No,” Yazmin redirected. “He’s in a triple threat. It’s entirely reasonable to think he won’t make it through this match!”
“There ain’t nobody in this fucking company that’s built or motivated to take that strap off that son-of-a-bitch like me. Not fucking one other person!”
“Casey’s got him at Uprising, too! So you’re telling me you’ve got some sort of magic bullet that no one else in Action Wrestling has that will let you beat Ryan Lockhart?!”
“Yes.”
“What makes you so special?”
“Lock ain’t seein’ me coming until it’s too late. The motherfucker. Can’t wait to turn his world and Tort’s title picture upside fuckin’ down.”
The arena seats below began to fill as fans trickled in after passing through security.
“Ah, so it’s not just Lockhart, huh?”
“Fuck no. Of course, I want that strap.”
“Will it matter if someone else is champion?”
“I want that belt, and I want that little nameplate to read ‘Ryan Lockhart’ when I take it. But let’s be real, Yaz, he’s gonna clap these clowns and hold that strap high like he’s been doin’ for 8 months, ‘cause that’s what happens when you the champ who only gets feed midcard talent for opposition. Don’t take no crystal ball to see that future; we been seein’ it for months on end.”
Dandy looked down into the ring with a renewed focus and vigor.
“This is mine, Yaz. I’ma make tonight my night, and soon as fuck, that strap will be ‘round my waist, too. I’m fuckin’ Thanos in this bitch. ‘I am inevitable.’”
“Thanos fucking dies at the end.”
“Fuck. Really? I only saw the previews. Figured he rolled up like a fuckin’ tank in part 2, too. Fuck it. Even more fitting then. Motherfucker proves it don’t matter how long you been on top, you can get the purple slapped right the fuck off ya.”
“You lost me. Is Thanos you or Lockhart?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know. I’ma kick the shit out of that fuckin’ kid. That’s all you need to know. Fuck metaphors. Goddamn. Am I some fuckin’ English teacher or shit now? Fuck.”
The pair sat in silence for a beat watching the crowd grow in the arena. Yazmin’s fear of heights relinquished its grip the longer the pair stayed in the rafters.
“I think you can do it.”
“I’m fuckin’ ready.”
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Dandy sits in a darkened room and all around him are four apparently handmade crowns, each of which rests upon a pedestal. No two of the crowns are the same, and DD selects the first: a crown constructed from interwoven rags. He holds the crown up and examines it while he speaks.
Let’s start with the King of the Slabs shall we?! I’m a little jealous of your nephew, man. At least he didn’t have to see what you’ve become since FightSmart went the way of… of, well, uh, your nephew. Where you been lately, Spencer? Oh… excuse me… Artist Formerly Known as Spencer Adams. Unfortunately for you, I know who you are, Spenny. You the owner/operator of a company that couldn’t hack it in this wrestlin’ world. You the man who when push came to shove and you realized you wasn’t gonna compete with them big dogs, caved to ‘em and joined like you was just one of the boys in the locker room. You the man who strugglin’ so hard with his concept of self that he tryin’ one more time again to reunite them UCI fellas and pretend they’s any reason anyone should give one room temperature shit about you or your company. You holdin’ your show in a fuckin’ empty fuckin’ warehouse is the most hat-on-a-fuckin’-hat thing in the world, Spenny. UCI was ALWAYS an empty warehouse. Didn’t have shit goin’ for it even in it’s supposed hayday, and now, all it’s got goin’ for it is that you throwing your weight behind it… Unfortunately for UCI, that mean it STILL ain’t got shit goin’ for it, Spence. Your company was so fucking unremarkable that your one-off reunion is main evented four guys who never even stepped foot in your company! How fuckin’ sad is that? You couldn’t even get 15 dyed-in-the-wool UCI folks to show up for you, and you had to go ‘round beggin’ us AW people to plump up your show the same way a Kardshian begs them doctors to plump them up all over. The only reason I ain’t sayin’ you a joke right now is that jokes is usually funny, and Spenny, you just fuckin’ sad nowadays.
Look, I’m gonna level with you, I think Tort and Camilla are fuckin’ up pretty regular and all that, but they was dead the fuck on with one thing: Camilla tryin’ to lock you out of Evolution 2 was the right call. It hurts me to say that bish was right, but brotha, you ain’t brought shit to the table worth fuckin’ takin’ in for a while now and shows like Evo… those are shows for bread winners. What you got lately, man? A poorly executed reunion show and a case of identity confusion. That don’t make you the king of the slabs or nowhere else. I get why you livin’ with them slab people now though. I mean, shit, they ain’t got nothin’ neither, and y’all don’t need no homes for your shit if you ain’t got shit in the first place. You held gold, Spenny. Sure. I can read a fuckin’ championship history, so I know that shit’s supposedly true. But you ain’t been no champion here. What you done to prove yourself? You beat a man who was lookin’ for the door more than he was lookin’ for the win when you took the strap off D-Day, and then what? You fucked around with Fight Smart, attached yourself to some meandering goons, and did what exactly, Spenny? Your whole career is an example of you bouncing between “such potential!” and “who?” I barely know who is gonna show up for this ladder war, and I’d bet my ass that you don’t know neither. It gonna be Spencer “UCI” Adams or King of the Slabs or some other offshoot that’s even less relevant than either of them other two you’s who might show the fuck up here? Spence, your time has come and gone, and you didn’t make that much of it. Such a shame to see raw ability wast… Hahaha Yeah. Nevermind. I can’t even pretend that I mean that shit, man. I know you was champ and all, but it takes every company a bit of time to mature and get good people. UCI died in the womb, and your weak ass title run ended with a whimper. Spencer, you like high tide: you all washed up and waterlogged. You got no hope at the big time again, and whether you show up white, black, or a caramel-toned weirdo this week, I’ma smack you. I’ma do it hard enough to reintroduce you to your sweet nephew again, son.
Dandy drops the rag crown and grabs one that’s made of crow feathers which just oozes angst.
King of Mass Confusion… I admit, you got me a bit confused right now. I look at you and I just wonder how you stupid enough to think anyone in this damn company owes you anything. Look at me, Al. I earned my US title. I had it stolen from me. What’d I do? I told the powers that be they’d face some consequences if my property wasn’t returned to me, and when they didn’t act with integrity, I took that shit into my own hands and FORCED them to give me a shot at this big belt. You? You won a match that gave you a big match, and after you legit fuckin’ blew it, you whined, pissed, and moaned until you got what you wanted again… like a big fuckin’ child. You could say I was doin’ the same, but you’d be flat fuckin’ wrong. IIIIIIIII was rightin’ a wrong. You was coverin’ for your failure. I’m on a righteous crusade to fix some bullshit. You just pissin’ in your pants cryin’ that TFK got added to your match. Just so we clear, when I drop you and take the belt down to win this bish, you ain’t gettin’ a third fuckin’ shot. Not right away anyway. You go to the back of the line. You work your way up and earn that shit. Then? Sure, Ally-Cat. Then you can have a shot at MY BELT. In the meantime, buy some fuckin’ tissues, quit your fuckin’ cryin’ and stop putting holes in the fucking walls while you throwin’ tantrums. You ain’t king material let alone champion material, A-Dick.
Fuck, man. King of Mass Confusion... you only approach that namesake when I try to figure out why the fuck any one bookin’ matches is tryin’ to kill this fuckin’ company. ‘Cause let’s call a spade a motherfuckin’ spade here, Ally-Cat: you winning a company’s strap means the company dies. UCI: dead as fuck. WCF: deader than fuck. What happens here if you win at Uprising? Fuckin’ AW goes on lifesupport and it closes shop in less than a fuckin’ year. If you ain’t seein’ a pattern, you the King of Self-Delusion. I mean, shit, what’s more delusional than fightin’ for someone else’s fuckin’ jewlery like it’s somethin’ to be proud of?! You got a ring and folks agreed to pretend you a WCF Hall of Famer. What the fuck is that worth if the company don’t exist? You aimin’ for the Action Wrestling HOF, too? Company’s gotta make a Hall of Fame, die, induct someone else who ACTUALLY deserves it, pity you like a dumb wounded animal, and then you gotta beat someone that can’t make a fuckin’ tag team with the All-Father fuckin’ successful alllllllll before you can even sniff that shit, A-Dick. You’re more or less just a wannabe scene kid who just chompin’ at the bit for everybody to take you and your interests seriously, Ally-Cat. You like these kids that think they cool ‘cause tHeY sO RaNDoM, when in reality they just think shoppin’ at a Hot Topic means they have a personality. Motherfucker, you just a handful of losses away from showin’ up with your nails painted black and guy-liner so thick you lookin’ like a fuckin’ raccoon. The biggest shame in that is that no matter what happens in that world of A-Dick, you ain’t goin’ nowhere, ‘cause ain’t no motherfucker ever seen Hot Topic out of business. H.T.A-Dick will be a persistent boil on the ass of AW, and if I’m bein’ real honest, it makes me sad. Sad, man… you know, the same emotion I felt when your Pinocchio ass became a real boy by wearin’ Tort’s WCF jewelry. Side question… Since Tort gave you his class-ring and all, don’t that mean you boys goin’ steady? Ain’t a gay joke, son. Just a real fuckin’ question. Never really thought Tort would be the type to go for a toothy A-Dick BJ, but that’s the only way that I can explain you gettin’ in the main event again and again and again, Ally-Cat.
Dandy tosses the feather crown and grabs the another, this one made of discarded film and a classic film reel.
I suppose that brings me to the third - and CERTAINLY least - King in this match… Thaddy, boy… You let me make my name on you already when I took your United States Title in my third match here. Whatchu tryin’ to do now? Let me carve that shit in your forehead? I’ll be honest, T… Your crew… The Hollywood Elite picked the wrong damn man for Carnage, but as much as I would have loved boppin’ Kiddy in the dome yet again, I gotta admit you being there made my call to return at the end of that match much more fun to make. How you gonna stand here and claim you’re the best thing going in Action Wrestling when you not even the best thing going in The Hollywood Elite?! You know, your boy Kidsgrove and me got history and all that… We go way back. Violent feud. Injuries. Blood, sweat and tears… All that good shit. But here’s the deal, T, when you go through that with somebody, you either let them own your soul or you end up finding a perverse respect for ‘em. I don’t like Kiddy, but Thaddy… I respect him now. With that respect comes a significant conclusion: he’s the best T.H.E. has to give. Just like I did, he took the US title off you once. He took me to the edge of my fucking mortality, T. What about you? You couldn’t be bothered to even play a factor in the match when I took your strap and made her mine. You couldn’t even stand up as a man to try to take her back after I straight yoinked that shit, T. What the fuck is wrong with you? All them porno ladies give you somethin’ that made your balls shrivel up and fall off or did you just never have them in the first place? Here’s the deal, my man… Kidsgrove’s better than you. That ain’t an insult neither; that’s a straight fact. Remember what I did against Kiddy? Beat him to a pulp, took him to within an inch of his life, right? You remember, I’m sure. Well, I changed him, and as much as I don’t want to say it... he changed me, too. What about you, T? Think real hard. Be real honest with yourself. Who you changed? You damn well know the answer is NO ONE. Unless, of course, you count the time your daddy hair-trigger oopsy’ed the load that became you into Mamma King, since you ain’t made a mark on anyone’s life or limb since your mamma got stretch marks growin’ you inside her. You ain’t man enough to stand toe to toe in a fight without blinking, and to be real, you the least of my concerns in this match, ‘cause you ain’t never been better than Sam Kidsgrove and I ain’t never been worse than him. I got your number, T, and your number is 3… 3rd best in The Hollywood Elite.
T, you believin’ you got a shot in this match is the best fiction you ever directed. Unfortunately for you, Thaddy, you the only one payin’ for a ticket to the show. Endgame made two billion dollars. Us made a billion. Fuckin’ Dumbo made nearly 400 million. “TFK: World Champ” would make like $10 and it's only ‘cause you’d watch it twice yourself on $5 Tuesday. You think you are comin’ into this match like Cujo, but T, you'll be leavin’ it like Ol’ Yeller. I could spend some time tellin’ you that you a big piece of shit or that you are your own biggest fan not because you got confidence but because no one else gives a shit whether you exist, T, but we both know remindin’ you how much better than you your friends are is the most cutting shit a motherfucker can pull on you. You ain’t nothin’ if you ain’t ego driven, so I leave you with this, Mr. King: for your sake, I really hope you move on after this fuckin’ loss and go Freebird them tag belts with a couple of fellas that would kick your ass in the ring if y’all faced off. Go watch Paulie Shore movies to see a motherfucker outact you and let Shadow and Kiddy carry your ass in that dumb fuckin’ tag team, ‘cause you damn well know you ain’t carryin’ your own dead weight nowhere.
Dandy full on throws the film crown into the wall and it falls to the floor, destroyed. He smirks as he grabs the final crown, the finest of the bunch: a gaudy, gold monstrosity.
I been lookin’ forward to this for a good while, my man. I look at this crown, and I see a fuckin’ legit ass king. Impressive, really. In the ring? You been on top by beatin' chumps, so you a bitch, RyRy. Outta the ring? You still a bitch. You know, you asked a good question recently. “What happened to shaking my hand?” I gotta answer yours with my own, Champ: WHERE THE FUCK WAS RYAN LOCKHART WHEN DANDY DIVITO WAS ON THE SHELF? I defended your ass for months, RyRy. I offered you nothing but respect. My return on that respect? Nothin’. A chicken shit champion celebrated the luxury he had to avoid his most legit challenge in the whole fuckin’ company. Think about it, RyRy... I get laid up beating the piss outta Kidsgrove, I get ROBBED of MY goddamn title by that fuckboi Tort, and you can't pick up a fucking phone to ask if I’m good?! Man, fuck that, Lock. You was happy I was laid up. You know I ain’t the Xtremely Underqualified Jaice fuckin’ Wilds. I ain’t that chump bitch Mikey X - took you a whole ass match to put him down, yeah? Took me like 8 fuckin’ seconds. I ain’t Casey Holliday who snatches defeat from the jaws of victory. I know you saw me tumble through that cage, exhaled in relief, and thought to yourself, “Thank god, I ain’t gotta face DD anytime soon!”
You been the King a long ass time, RyRy. As the longest reigning United States Champion in Action Wrestling history, I know what it means to sit on top of that mountain like you been doin’ for months. Ain’t nobody else in this match get that like you and me. That ain’t good for you, RyRy. You been running this place since you smacked SJW. (By the way, you feel good about pluggin’ a preggo fella? Pretty fucked up if you ask me.) Nobody been constantly on top of they game like you, right? If you slip, you no longer the face of AW. I feel that, RyRy. If I slipped? I lost the US title, my baby. If I slipped? I lost a part of my motherfucking soul. There’s a certain fear that comes with livin’ that life. I saw that little bit of fear peakin’ through when I think ‘bout myself holdin’ my belt, and I damn sure see it when I look at you clutchin’ yours. Here’s where Tort and Camilla might have fucked theyselfs tryin’ to fuck me though: they took away my baby so other fellas could be her daddy, and when they did that, they took away my fear, RyRy. I ain’t got shit else to lose. What happens if, say, I go in and don’t walk out champ? Nothing changes. I’m where I started. I’m still Dandy DiVito, perpetual fuckin’ loud mouth, ass kicker - who, by the way, is still gonna take every possible opportunity to pop you in the mouth whenever I want, drop your ass with Carnage whenever I want, and make your life and AW un-fucking-governable however I want. Do you think anybody really expects Ryan Fuckin’ Lockhart to fail to pull a rabbit out of a hat YET AGAIN even when he was dead to rights? Nah. But I been defyin’ expectations my whole motherfuckin’ life, RyRy, and this time, you gonna find a dead little motherfucker in that hat. I showed up in this bitch and won gold in less time than it takes a motherfucker to make a TV dinner. Everybody been tellin’ me since I was a kid that I gotta follow my dad's footsteps, but I’m out here ‘bout to win that big gold belt, baby! RyRy, you sleepin’ on me, and that’s fine, son. I like it that way. I like it when I get underestimated. Go ask Corey Bull and Sam Kidsgrove and any one of the army of motherfuckers I beat the shit out of what happens when they underestimate Dandy DiVito! I ain’t never lost a title match as a challenger, RyRy. When I walk in with no belt, I fuckin’ MARCH OUT with one slung over my shoulder.
When folks think about me, I know they immediately think about my run with that US Strap. I know it. They gotta. I had a fire-ass run with that bitch. But I’ma change some shit here at Uprising, RyRy. I’m changing my image here real quick, and it’ll be at your expense. I’m makin’ my name, Lock. I’m puffin’ out my chest, I’m standin’ up real tall, and I’m stepping’ up to take the fucking king off the mountain. I’m takin’ the Lockhart flag off that peak, and I’m plantin’ mine. Ain’t no better way to plant that DiVito flag in this main event mountain than to plant that bitch right in your fuckin’ chest, RyRy.
Dandy smiles as he place's Ryan's crown back on it's podium upside down.
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In Dandy DiVito’s locker room the evening of Uprising: All In, DD is taping up his hands and Yazmin is standing by waiting to attend to his needs..
“Ain’t it weird that I’m the only motherfucker in a five-man match that ain’t claimin’ a kingdom?” Dandy wondered aloud.
“Ryan never called himself a king, did he?”
DD stopped glanced up to Yazmin, and replied through a villainous smile, “Look at that bitch’s promo from August 4. Ryan called hiself the ‘King of Clash’. Don’t doubt, babygirl."
“I suppose.” She conceded. “It’s weird that there are 4 kings and 1… what would you claim to be?”
“Me? I ain’t no king. That’s for damn sure. I don’t believe in that fuckin’ monarchy shit. I’m just a fuckin’ man. Unfortunately for them supposed kings, I’m the worst thing I can be as far as they concerned: I’m a regular ass man who’s pissed about how fuckin’ broke the system is that put them kings in they thrones. Nothin’ more threatening to a King than someone who ain’t gonna accept the same old same old no more, you know? I’m gonna depose some fuckin’ kings and snatch them fuckin’ crowns tonight.”
“You’ll need a display case.”
“Damn straight. This gonna be a good night. This is DD’s rebirth! Ain’t gon’ be left behind again. No, no!”
“You ready?”
“I’ma bathe in the blood of kings tonight.”
Dandy slapped himself in the face to psyche himself up. Yaz got down to his level and looked him in the eye as a stern look washed over her. Yaz grabbed DD’s face in her hand like a scolding mother and spoke firmly.
“No fucking around tonight. Don’t show off. If you have a path to the belt, fucking take it. Don’t give an inch. Absolutely nothing matters more than grabbing that fucking belt. When you get to the top, Grab. The. Fucking. Title. Don’t play around; you got me?!”
Dandy sneered sinisterly.
“Oh yeah. You ain’t gotta fuckin’ worry about me tonight, doll. I’m bringing that strap home. Fuck. I might just leave Ryan’s name on it, too. I want him to remember who burned down his fuckin’ throne. No haha. No fuckery. Just violence and the execution of my game plan... and the execution of them kings.”
Hesitantly, Yazmin muttered, “If we fell, we’d be dead.”
“Deader than dead. We’d be fuckin’ splattered.” Dandy replied, unnervingly.
“Why do we need to be up here? Can’t we go hide out somewhere backstage?”
“Nope.”
“Why?!”
“NO ONE looks at the catwalk during a show. Best hideout for my surprise.”
“Your plan is to attack Lockhart to force your way into a title match?”
“More or less.”
“What if he’s not champ?”
Dandy scoffed dismissively. “Uhhuh, sure.”
“No,” Yazmin redirected. “He’s in a triple threat. It’s entirely reasonable to think he won’t make it through this match!”
“There ain’t nobody in this fucking company that’s built or motivated to take that strap off that son-of-a-bitch like me. Not fucking one other person!”
“Casey’s got him at Uprising, too! So you’re telling me you’ve got some sort of magic bullet that no one else in Action Wrestling has that will let you beat Ryan Lockhart?!”
“Yes.”
“What makes you so special?”
“Lock ain’t seein’ me coming until it’s too late. The motherfucker. Can’t wait to turn his world and Tort’s title picture upside fuckin’ down.”
The arena seats below began to fill as fans trickled in after passing through security.
“Ah, so it’s not just Lockhart, huh?”
“Fuck no. Of course, I want that strap.”
“Will it matter if someone else is champion?”
“I want that belt, and I want that little nameplate to read ‘Ryan Lockhart’ when I take it. But let’s be real, Yaz, he’s gonna clap these clowns and hold that strap high like he’s been doin’ for 8 months, ‘cause that’s what happens when you the champ who only gets feed midcard talent for opposition. Don’t take no crystal ball to see that future; we been seein’ it for months on end.”
Dandy looked down into the ring with a renewed focus and vigor.
“This is mine, Yaz. I’ma make tonight my night, and soon as fuck, that strap will be ‘round my waist, too. I’m fuckin’ Thanos in this bitch. ‘I am inevitable.’”
“Thanos fucking dies at the end.”
“Fuck. Really? I only saw the previews. Figured he rolled up like a fuckin’ tank in part 2, too. Fuck it. Even more fitting then. Motherfucker proves it don’t matter how long you been on top, you can get the purple slapped right the fuck off ya.”
“You lost me. Is Thanos you or Lockhart?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know. I’ma kick the shit out of that fuckin’ kid. That’s all you need to know. Fuck metaphors. Goddamn. Am I some fuckin’ English teacher or shit now? Fuck.”
The pair sat in silence for a beat watching the crowd grow in the arena. Yazmin’s fear of heights relinquished its grip the longer the pair stayed in the rafters.
“I think you can do it.”
“I’m fuckin’ ready.”
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Dandy sits in a darkened room and all around him are four apparently handmade crowns, each of which rests upon a pedestal. No two of the crowns are the same, and DD selects the first: a crown constructed from interwoven rags. He holds the crown up and examines it while he speaks.
Let’s start with the King of the Slabs shall we?! I’m a little jealous of your nephew, man. At least he didn’t have to see what you’ve become since FightSmart went the way of… of, well, uh, your nephew. Where you been lately, Spencer? Oh… excuse me… Artist Formerly Known as Spencer Adams. Unfortunately for you, I know who you are, Spenny. You the owner/operator of a company that couldn’t hack it in this wrestlin’ world. You the man who when push came to shove and you realized you wasn’t gonna compete with them big dogs, caved to ‘em and joined like you was just one of the boys in the locker room. You the man who strugglin’ so hard with his concept of self that he tryin’ one more time again to reunite them UCI fellas and pretend they’s any reason anyone should give one room temperature shit about you or your company. You holdin’ your show in a fuckin’ empty fuckin’ warehouse is the most hat-on-a-fuckin’-hat thing in the world, Spenny. UCI was ALWAYS an empty warehouse. Didn’t have shit goin’ for it even in it’s supposed hayday, and now, all it’s got goin’ for it is that you throwing your weight behind it… Unfortunately for UCI, that mean it STILL ain’t got shit goin’ for it, Spence. Your company was so fucking unremarkable that your one-off reunion is main evented four guys who never even stepped foot in your company! How fuckin’ sad is that? You couldn’t even get 15 dyed-in-the-wool UCI folks to show up for you, and you had to go ‘round beggin’ us AW people to plump up your show the same way a Kardshian begs them doctors to plump them up all over. The only reason I ain’t sayin’ you a joke right now is that jokes is usually funny, and Spenny, you just fuckin’ sad nowadays.
Look, I’m gonna level with you, I think Tort and Camilla are fuckin’ up pretty regular and all that, but they was dead the fuck on with one thing: Camilla tryin’ to lock you out of Evolution 2 was the right call. It hurts me to say that bish was right, but brotha, you ain’t brought shit to the table worth fuckin’ takin’ in for a while now and shows like Evo… those are shows for bread winners. What you got lately, man? A poorly executed reunion show and a case of identity confusion. That don’t make you the king of the slabs or nowhere else. I get why you livin’ with them slab people now though. I mean, shit, they ain’t got nothin’ neither, and y’all don’t need no homes for your shit if you ain’t got shit in the first place. You held gold, Spenny. Sure. I can read a fuckin’ championship history, so I know that shit’s supposedly true. But you ain’t been no champion here. What you done to prove yourself? You beat a man who was lookin’ for the door more than he was lookin’ for the win when you took the strap off D-Day, and then what? You fucked around with Fight Smart, attached yourself to some meandering goons, and did what exactly, Spenny? Your whole career is an example of you bouncing between “such potential!” and “who?” I barely know who is gonna show up for this ladder war, and I’d bet my ass that you don’t know neither. It gonna be Spencer “UCI” Adams or King of the Slabs or some other offshoot that’s even less relevant than either of them other two you’s who might show the fuck up here? Spence, your time has come and gone, and you didn’t make that much of it. Such a shame to see raw ability wast… Hahaha Yeah. Nevermind. I can’t even pretend that I mean that shit, man. I know you was champ and all, but it takes every company a bit of time to mature and get good people. UCI died in the womb, and your weak ass title run ended with a whimper. Spencer, you like high tide: you all washed up and waterlogged. You got no hope at the big time again, and whether you show up white, black, or a caramel-toned weirdo this week, I’ma smack you. I’ma do it hard enough to reintroduce you to your sweet nephew again, son.
Dandy drops the rag crown and grabs one that’s made of crow feathers which just oozes angst.
King of Mass Confusion… I admit, you got me a bit confused right now. I look at you and I just wonder how you stupid enough to think anyone in this damn company owes you anything. Look at me, Al. I earned my US title. I had it stolen from me. What’d I do? I told the powers that be they’d face some consequences if my property wasn’t returned to me, and when they didn’t act with integrity, I took that shit into my own hands and FORCED them to give me a shot at this big belt. You? You won a match that gave you a big match, and after you legit fuckin’ blew it, you whined, pissed, and moaned until you got what you wanted again… like a big fuckin’ child. You could say I was doin’ the same, but you’d be flat fuckin’ wrong. IIIIIIIII was rightin’ a wrong. You was coverin’ for your failure. I’m on a righteous crusade to fix some bullshit. You just pissin’ in your pants cryin’ that TFK got added to your match. Just so we clear, when I drop you and take the belt down to win this bish, you ain’t gettin’ a third fuckin’ shot. Not right away anyway. You go to the back of the line. You work your way up and earn that shit. Then? Sure, Ally-Cat. Then you can have a shot at MY BELT. In the meantime, buy some fuckin’ tissues, quit your fuckin’ cryin’ and stop putting holes in the fucking walls while you throwin’ tantrums. You ain’t king material let alone champion material, A-Dick.
Fuck, man. King of Mass Confusion... you only approach that namesake when I try to figure out why the fuck any one bookin’ matches is tryin’ to kill this fuckin’ company. ‘Cause let’s call a spade a motherfuckin’ spade here, Ally-Cat: you winning a company’s strap means the company dies. UCI: dead as fuck. WCF: deader than fuck. What happens here if you win at Uprising? Fuckin’ AW goes on lifesupport and it closes shop in less than a fuckin’ year. If you ain’t seein’ a pattern, you the King of Self-Delusion. I mean, shit, what’s more delusional than fightin’ for someone else’s fuckin’ jewlery like it’s somethin’ to be proud of?! You got a ring and folks agreed to pretend you a WCF Hall of Famer. What the fuck is that worth if the company don’t exist? You aimin’ for the Action Wrestling HOF, too? Company’s gotta make a Hall of Fame, die, induct someone else who ACTUALLY deserves it, pity you like a dumb wounded animal, and then you gotta beat someone that can’t make a fuckin’ tag team with the All-Father fuckin’ successful alllllllll before you can even sniff that shit, A-Dick. You’re more or less just a wannabe scene kid who just chompin’ at the bit for everybody to take you and your interests seriously, Ally-Cat. You like these kids that think they cool ‘cause tHeY sO RaNDoM, when in reality they just think shoppin’ at a Hot Topic means they have a personality. Motherfucker, you just a handful of losses away from showin’ up with your nails painted black and guy-liner so thick you lookin’ like a fuckin’ raccoon. The biggest shame in that is that no matter what happens in that world of A-Dick, you ain’t goin’ nowhere, ‘cause ain’t no motherfucker ever seen Hot Topic out of business. H.T.A-Dick will be a persistent boil on the ass of AW, and if I’m bein’ real honest, it makes me sad. Sad, man… you know, the same emotion I felt when your Pinocchio ass became a real boy by wearin’ Tort’s WCF jewelry. Side question… Since Tort gave you his class-ring and all, don’t that mean you boys goin’ steady? Ain’t a gay joke, son. Just a real fuckin’ question. Never really thought Tort would be the type to go for a toothy A-Dick BJ, but that’s the only way that I can explain you gettin’ in the main event again and again and again, Ally-Cat.
Dandy tosses the feather crown and grabs the another, this one made of discarded film and a classic film reel.
I suppose that brings me to the third - and CERTAINLY least - King in this match… Thaddy, boy… You let me make my name on you already when I took your United States Title in my third match here. Whatchu tryin’ to do now? Let me carve that shit in your forehead? I’ll be honest, T… Your crew… The Hollywood Elite picked the wrong damn man for Carnage, but as much as I would have loved boppin’ Kiddy in the dome yet again, I gotta admit you being there made my call to return at the end of that match much more fun to make. How you gonna stand here and claim you’re the best thing going in Action Wrestling when you not even the best thing going in The Hollywood Elite?! You know, your boy Kidsgrove and me got history and all that… We go way back. Violent feud. Injuries. Blood, sweat and tears… All that good shit. But here’s the deal, T, when you go through that with somebody, you either let them own your soul or you end up finding a perverse respect for ‘em. I don’t like Kiddy, but Thaddy… I respect him now. With that respect comes a significant conclusion: he’s the best T.H.E. has to give. Just like I did, he took the US title off you once. He took me to the edge of my fucking mortality, T. What about you? You couldn’t be bothered to even play a factor in the match when I took your strap and made her mine. You couldn’t even stand up as a man to try to take her back after I straight yoinked that shit, T. What the fuck is wrong with you? All them porno ladies give you somethin’ that made your balls shrivel up and fall off or did you just never have them in the first place? Here’s the deal, my man… Kidsgrove’s better than you. That ain’t an insult neither; that’s a straight fact. Remember what I did against Kiddy? Beat him to a pulp, took him to within an inch of his life, right? You remember, I’m sure. Well, I changed him, and as much as I don’t want to say it... he changed me, too. What about you, T? Think real hard. Be real honest with yourself. Who you changed? You damn well know the answer is NO ONE. Unless, of course, you count the time your daddy hair-trigger oopsy’ed the load that became you into Mamma King, since you ain’t made a mark on anyone’s life or limb since your mamma got stretch marks growin’ you inside her. You ain’t man enough to stand toe to toe in a fight without blinking, and to be real, you the least of my concerns in this match, ‘cause you ain’t never been better than Sam Kidsgrove and I ain’t never been worse than him. I got your number, T, and your number is 3… 3rd best in The Hollywood Elite.
T, you believin’ you got a shot in this match is the best fiction you ever directed. Unfortunately for you, Thaddy, you the only one payin’ for a ticket to the show. Endgame made two billion dollars. Us made a billion. Fuckin’ Dumbo made nearly 400 million. “TFK: World Champ” would make like $10 and it's only ‘cause you’d watch it twice yourself on $5 Tuesday. You think you are comin’ into this match like Cujo, but T, you'll be leavin’ it like Ol’ Yeller. I could spend some time tellin’ you that you a big piece of shit or that you are your own biggest fan not because you got confidence but because no one else gives a shit whether you exist, T, but we both know remindin’ you how much better than you your friends are is the most cutting shit a motherfucker can pull on you. You ain’t nothin’ if you ain’t ego driven, so I leave you with this, Mr. King: for your sake, I really hope you move on after this fuckin’ loss and go Freebird them tag belts with a couple of fellas that would kick your ass in the ring if y’all faced off. Go watch Paulie Shore movies to see a motherfucker outact you and let Shadow and Kiddy carry your ass in that dumb fuckin’ tag team, ‘cause you damn well know you ain’t carryin’ your own dead weight nowhere.
Dandy full on throws the film crown into the wall and it falls to the floor, destroyed. He smirks as he grabs the final crown, the finest of the bunch: a gaudy, gold monstrosity.
I been lookin’ forward to this for a good while, my man. I look at this crown, and I see a fuckin’ legit ass king. Impressive, really. In the ring? You been on top by beatin' chumps, so you a bitch, RyRy. Outta the ring? You still a bitch. You know, you asked a good question recently. “What happened to shaking my hand?” I gotta answer yours with my own, Champ: WHERE THE FUCK WAS RYAN LOCKHART WHEN DANDY DIVITO WAS ON THE SHELF? I defended your ass for months, RyRy. I offered you nothing but respect. My return on that respect? Nothin’. A chicken shit champion celebrated the luxury he had to avoid his most legit challenge in the whole fuckin’ company. Think about it, RyRy... I get laid up beating the piss outta Kidsgrove, I get ROBBED of MY goddamn title by that fuckboi Tort, and you can't pick up a fucking phone to ask if I’m good?! Man, fuck that, Lock. You was happy I was laid up. You know I ain’t the Xtremely Underqualified Jaice fuckin’ Wilds. I ain’t that chump bitch Mikey X - took you a whole ass match to put him down, yeah? Took me like 8 fuckin’ seconds. I ain’t Casey Holliday who snatches defeat from the jaws of victory. I know you saw me tumble through that cage, exhaled in relief, and thought to yourself, “Thank god, I ain’t gotta face DD anytime soon!”
You been the King a long ass time, RyRy. As the longest reigning United States Champion in Action Wrestling history, I know what it means to sit on top of that mountain like you been doin’ for months. Ain’t nobody else in this match get that like you and me. That ain’t good for you, RyRy. You been running this place since you smacked SJW. (By the way, you feel good about pluggin’ a preggo fella? Pretty fucked up if you ask me.) Nobody been constantly on top of they game like you, right? If you slip, you no longer the face of AW. I feel that, RyRy. If I slipped? I lost the US title, my baby. If I slipped? I lost a part of my motherfucking soul. There’s a certain fear that comes with livin’ that life. I saw that little bit of fear peakin’ through when I think ‘bout myself holdin’ my belt, and I damn sure see it when I look at you clutchin’ yours. Here’s where Tort and Camilla might have fucked theyselfs tryin’ to fuck me though: they took away my baby so other fellas could be her daddy, and when they did that, they took away my fear, RyRy. I ain’t got shit else to lose. What happens if, say, I go in and don’t walk out champ? Nothing changes. I’m where I started. I’m still Dandy DiVito, perpetual fuckin’ loud mouth, ass kicker - who, by the way, is still gonna take every possible opportunity to pop you in the mouth whenever I want, drop your ass with Carnage whenever I want, and make your life and AW un-fucking-governable however I want. Do you think anybody really expects Ryan Fuckin’ Lockhart to fail to pull a rabbit out of a hat YET AGAIN even when he was dead to rights? Nah. But I been defyin’ expectations my whole motherfuckin’ life, RyRy, and this time, you gonna find a dead little motherfucker in that hat. I showed up in this bitch and won gold in less time than it takes a motherfucker to make a TV dinner. Everybody been tellin’ me since I was a kid that I gotta follow my dad's footsteps, but I’m out here ‘bout to win that big gold belt, baby! RyRy, you sleepin’ on me, and that’s fine, son. I like it that way. I like it when I get underestimated. Go ask Corey Bull and Sam Kidsgrove and any one of the army of motherfuckers I beat the shit out of what happens when they underestimate Dandy DiVito! I ain’t never lost a title match as a challenger, RyRy. When I walk in with no belt, I fuckin’ MARCH OUT with one slung over my shoulder.
When folks think about me, I know they immediately think about my run with that US Strap. I know it. They gotta. I had a fire-ass run with that bitch. But I’ma change some shit here at Uprising, RyRy. I’m changing my image here real quick, and it’ll be at your expense. I’m makin’ my name, Lock. I’m puffin’ out my chest, I’m standin’ up real tall, and I’m stepping’ up to take the fucking king off the mountain. I’m takin’ the Lockhart flag off that peak, and I’m plantin’ mine. Ain’t no better way to plant that DiVito flag in this main event mountain than to plant that bitch right in your fuckin’ chest, RyRy.
Dandy smiles as he place's Ryan's crown back on it's podium upside down.
~~~~~~~~~~<>~~~~~~~~~~<>~~~~~~~~~~<>~~~~~~~~~~
In Dandy DiVito’s locker room the evening of Uprising: All In, DD is taping up his hands and Yazmin is standing by waiting to attend to his needs..
“Ain’t it weird that I’m the only motherfucker in a five-man match that ain’t claimin’ a kingdom?” Dandy wondered aloud.
“Ryan never called himself a king, did he?”
DD stopped glanced up to Yazmin, and replied through a villainous smile, “Look at that bitch’s promo from August 4. Ryan called hiself the ‘King of Clash’. Don’t doubt, babygirl."
“I suppose.” She conceded. “It’s weird that there are 4 kings and 1… what would you claim to be?”
“Me? I ain’t no king. That’s for damn sure. I don’t believe in that fuckin’ monarchy shit. I’m just a fuckin’ man. Unfortunately for them supposed kings, I’m the worst thing I can be as far as they concerned: I’m a regular ass man who’s pissed about how fuckin’ broke the system is that put them kings in they thrones. Nothin’ more threatening to a King than someone who ain’t gonna accept the same old same old no more, you know? I’m gonna depose some fuckin’ kings and snatch them fuckin’ crowns tonight.”
“You’ll need a display case.”
“Damn straight. This gonna be a good night. This is DD’s rebirth! Ain’t gon’ be left behind again. No, no!”
“You ready?”
“I’ma bathe in the blood of kings tonight.”
Dandy slapped himself in the face to psyche himself up. Yaz got down to his level and looked him in the eye as a stern look washed over her. Yaz grabbed DD’s face in her hand like a scolding mother and spoke firmly.
“No fucking around tonight. Don’t show off. If you have a path to the belt, fucking take it. Don’t give an inch. Absolutely nothing matters more than grabbing that fucking belt. When you get to the top, Grab. The. Fucking. Title. Don’t play around; you got me?!”
Dandy sneered sinisterly.
“Oh yeah. You ain’t gotta fuckin’ worry about me tonight, doll. I’m bringing that strap home. Fuck. I might just leave Ryan’s name on it, too. I want him to remember who burned down his fuckin’ throne. No haha. No fuckery. Just violence and the execution of my game plan... and the execution of them kings.”
