Post by Sidney J. Warwick on Oct 21, 2018 22:32:25 GMT -5
(Our scene opens in an unidentified room. Two large oak tables sit in it, facing each other. One table has seven chairs seated behind it, while the other has two chairs seated behind it. The larger table with more chairs is elevated off the ground by an eighteen inch dais. Set back several feet from both tables is a gallery of theater-style seats, the majority of which are occupied by an audience of people of all ages and ethnicities, each of them conservatively dressed as though they are attending a professional event of some sort. The audience members are all speaking to each other in hushed voices, clearly waiting for something to occur.
They do not have to wait long, because, just a few moments later, a door to the room opens and in walks the number one contender to the Action Wrestling World Championship, Sidney J. Warwick. Warwick, typically known for wearing ludicrous outfits, is significantly more buttoned-down than usual, dressed in a sharp three-piece gray suit. The only bit of "flair" that he is wearing, so to speak, is a small lapel pin on his left breast, which is in the shape of a transgender pride flag.
The wrestler is accompanied by a woman in her early 50s who we have not seen before. Her looks are unassuming and intellectual, one might say almost professorial. As she and SJW walk towards the smaller of the two tables, she pushes a pair of thick-framed black glasses up her nose. Upon reaching the table, she tugs down the jacket of her khaki-colored pantsuit and sighs deeply before taking a seat.
Sidney Warwick places a hand on her shoulder and whispers to her in a comforting tone.)
Sidney: It's ok. You can do this. You have to remember that we have the truth on our side, and you have to remember that you are stronger than he is.
(Having had his aside with the woman, Warwick pulls back a chair of his own and sits next to her; placing an aluminum Haliburton briefcase on the table in front of him.
Not long after Warwick and his compatriot have positioned themselves at the smaller table, another door to the room opens and through it pours a group of seven Caucasian men in their sixties and seventies. They all sit down at the larger table, looming over Warwick and the mystery woman due to their position on the dais.
The man seated at the center of the seven has a nameplate in front of him, simply reading "Mr. Gassy." He speaks.)
Mr. Gassy: This committee is hereby convened to hear the presentation of Mr. Sidney J. Warwick and also his . . . I'm sorry, what is this woman's relationship to you, Mr. Warwick?
Sidney: Let's just say that she is a victim and I am her advocate. I am here to make sure that her story is heard and appropriate action is taken.
Mr. Gassy: I do have to say, these are extremely unusual proceedings. We are the Action Wrestling Championship Committee, the advisory body that makes determinations regarding the individuals who are to receive title matches. However you have come here today . . .
Sidney: I have come here today to make certain that you strip Roy Speede of the Action Wrestling World Heavyweight Title.
Mr. Gassy: Yes, that's what I was going to say. Before we begin, please raise your right hand.
(Warwick complies with this directive.)
Mr. Gassy: Do you swear that the testimony that you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?
Sidney: I affirm that I speak the truth.
Mr. Gassy: Very good. Are you prepared to make an opening statement?
Sidney: I am.
Mr. Gassy: You may proceed.
Sidney: Mr. Gassy, gentlemen of the championship committee, you know who I am. My name is Sidney J. Warwick, and I come here today in pursuit of justice. The man who currently holds the primary championship that your body is charged with administering, Mr. Roy Speede, has committed atrocities in his past which should disqualify him - or any man, for that matter - from being the World Champion.
Three weeks ago, in doing routine opposition research on the man that I then highly suspected I would face at the Carnage pay per view, I was provided with this.
(SJW opens the Halliburton in front of him and removes the Manilla envelope with Roy Speede's name printed on it that he has been carrying around for the last several weeks. He holds it high so that it can be seen by all of the members of the championship committee, and then he places it down on the table in front of him.)
Sidney: I had hoped that it wouldn't come to this. That is why, two weeks ago, prior to the most recent edition of Monday Night Clash, I told Roy Speede that he could avoid all of this if he would relinquish the title belt by the end of the program. However, he clearly refused to do that. That's why I ran in after his match. I was going to confront him, and I was going to give him one last opportunity to do the right thing so that we could avoid having to come before this body.
Yet Roy Speede, as so many other white, heterosexual, cisgender men have done over the years, let his pride get in the way of progress and healing, and the result was the physical confrontation between he and I that everybody saw that the close of Clash. It was my intention to give Mr. Speede what was coming to him as a result of the awful things that I now know he has done, but then one Mr. Ryan Lockhart interfered, perhaps not understanding the gravity of the situation, and my attempts at justice were thwarted.
That's why we are here today . . . because Roy Speede refused and continues to refuse to step up and remedy this situation on his own.
(Warwick reaches over and places his left hand on the shoulder of the mystery woman who is seated next to him.)
Sidney: However, even though I have taken primary responsibility for bringing these shocking allegations to light, this is not about me. This is not my story to tell. Everything relates to this woman, whose life has been irreparably harmed by Roy Speede. I'm going to let her tell you gentlemen the story of what occurred so many years ago.
Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Kathleen Greasy-Forks.
(The previously unnamed woman, now known as Kathleen Greasy-Forks, nods to the championship committee upon being named.)
Mr. Gassy: Ms. Greasy-Forks, we would like to thank you for appearing before us today. We understand that this is not an easy thing for you to do, but we are here today to listen to you. We are not here to judge you. We just want to hear your truth.
Greasy-Forks: Thank you, Mr. Gassy, and thank you members of the championship committee. Thank you most of all, however, to Mr. Sidney J. Warwick, who has empowered me to make sure my voice is heard about the things that Roy Speede did to me. I still suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder from these events, and they haunt me in my nightmares on a weekly if not daily basis. Perhaps the worst thing is that, when I relive these events, I can still hear him laughing. I can still hear him laughing at me, belittling me, and making my very existence into a joke. This is the kind of man that your organization is promoting as a World Champion, and my hope is that, after today, you realize that you should no longer be doing that.
If I could, I would like to read from my prepared statement.
Mr. Gassy: Go ahead.
(Ms. Greasy-Forks takes the Manila envelope that had been in Sidney Warwick's possession and cracks it open for the first time that we have seen, producing a thick document from it and then beginning to read aloud.)
Greasy-Forks: My name is Kathleen Greasy-Forks, and, during the summer of 2011, I worked as a waitress at a small vegan restaurant called "Turn up the Beets" in downtown Salt Lake City. On June 13, I was working our closing shift, which ran until 1 o'clock in the morning. I am not now nor have I ever been a professional wrestling fan, but I now know that there was a wrestling show called "Blast" held in Salt Lake City that day, promoted by a company called the Wrestling Championship Federation.
I learned this in part because, about forty-five minutes before we were going to close, a group of wrestlers came in to the restaurant. There were several of them, and I do not remember all of the names, but there are three who stand out to me. There was one who called himself D-Day, there was one who called himself Jay, and there was, of course, Roy Speede. There may also have been a "PJ" and a "Squee." It seemed that they were all celebrating because the one they called D-Day had won some sort of championship at that evening's show.
Business had been slow that summer, so I was the only waitress working. In fact, other than our chef, I was the only person working. I went to the wrestlers' table, and I brought them menus and cucumber water. Nothing was out of the ordinary at that point, and I said I would be back in a few minutes to take their orders. When I came back, that is when the problems began . . .
(Ms. Greasy-Forks bites her lip and looks down at the table, as though she is having difficulty continuing.)
Sidney: It's OK. You are strong. You can do this.
Greasy-Forks: I . . . I came back to take their orders, and there weren't any issues with most of the wrestlers. Some of them wanted some tabouli, and I think that there was also a large hummus plate ordered. I asked for Roy Speede's order last, and he immediately took a very aggressive tone with me.
Mr. Gassy: Tone is one thing, Ms. Greasy-Forks, but what did he actually do? What did he actually say?
Greasy-Forks: The first thing that I remember him saying is, "Where is all the fucking meat?"
I was a little bit confused, so I asked him what he meant. He just said it again, "Where is all the fucking meat?"
I had been in food service for several years by that point, and I was used to getting the occasional belligerent customer, so I ignored his swears at first and tried to calmly explain to him that we were in a vegan restaurant and did not serve any meat or any other animal products. Then, things got even worse. He looked me square in the eye, pointed at me, and said, "I'm a pro athlete, bitch, and I need meat to fuel this body. If you ain't got no meat here, then you need to prance you sweet ass down the street and go someplace to get me a fucking steak."
And then he started laughing . . . that dreadful, disturbing laughter that I still remember to this day.
I was shaken, but I kept my cool and explained to him that, as a vegan myself, I could not possibly facilitate harming another living creature, so I could not honor his request to go get him a steak, fucking or otherwise. That's when things really went off the rails. Mr. Speede got up from the table, and he yelled in his aggressive Virginian accent, "Oh yeah, well if you ain't into meat, then I'm gonna have to show you how great it is. Why don't you take a look at MY meat, lady."
He put his hands on my shoulders, and he pressed his pelvis against mine. Then, he backed me up against the restaurant's service counter, reached into his pants, and . . . well . . . that's when he whipped it out.
Mr. Gassy: Whipped it out?
Greasy-Forks: Yes, he whipped it out.
Mr. Gassy: He whipped what out, exactly?
(A few tears begin to roll down Ms. Greasy-Forks' cheeks. At this point, Sidney Warwick intervenes.)
Sidney: Please, Mr. Gassy, a bit of sensitivity! Clearly this woman is traumatized, and we have gone well past the point that she needs to relive that trauma. She has made it abundantly clear what happened to her at the hands of Roy Speede on June 13, 2011.
Mr. Gassy: Mr. Warwick, with all due respect, you may have come here as Ms. Greasy-Forks' advocate, but you are not the focus of this hearing. If this woman is accusing our World Champion, Roy Speede, of what we think she is accusing him of, then we need to hear all of the particulars.
So, Ms. Greasy-Forks, I ask you again: What did he whip out?
Greasy-Forks: It was terrible. I can remember it in such detail. The dry, rough skin. The unpleasant smell. The veins. Oh, the veins. He whipped out . . . a massive wad of beef jerky.
Mr. Gassy: Beef jerky?
Greasy-Forks: I suppose that it could have been lamb jerky or turkey jerky. I'm a vegan; I really don't know. But it was definitely meat. I could identify the stink of animal oppression and murder anywhere. Roy Speede took that wad of jerky as he was just inches from my face, he shoved it into his mouth, and he began violently chewing. He spoke while he chewed too, with long, gross strings of saliva connecting the top and the bottom of his jaw. He almost had a look of ecstasy on his face, and I remember the last words he said as he pulled away from me. He said . . . he said . . .
"Meat, oooooo."
I couldn't take it anymore at that point. I managed to muster every ounce of strength that I could - fortunately he's not a very large man even though he's supposed to be a wrestler - and I shoved him back just far enough that I was able to slip away and run out of the restaurant. I don't even know what happened to our chef or any of the wrestlers' orders. I didn't go back that night. I couldn't bring myself to, and I couldn't bring myself to ask what had happened when I went back to work the next day.
Mr. Gassy: And you mean to tell me that, despite suffering this allegedly traumatic experience in which a man ate meat in front of you that you failed to tell anybody about it - including this committee - for seven years until you conveniently brought it to Mr. Warwick's attention just before he was to receive a shot at Roy Speede's World Title?
Greasy-Forks: I tried to tell other people at the time. Really, I did. In fact, I went on Twitter, and I told my story using a hashtag that I had come up with based on Roy Speede's last words to me that evening: #MeatOoo.
However, it seemed like nobody was listening. The #MeatOoo movement never got off the ground. Why didn't it work? The only reason that I can think of is that Twitter just hadn't yet become the positive force for social change that we all know it to be now. This was the summer of 2011. Instead of gaining traction and mainstream media acceptance, #MeatOoo just got buried underneath a bunch of memes about Rebecca Black, Nyan Cat, and Rebecca Black riding Nyan Cat.
Mr. Gassy: And what sort of interaction did you have with Roy Speede after this incident at your restaurant?
Greasy-Forks: None.
Mr. Gassy: Absolutely none?
Greasy-Forks: Absolutely none.
(Mr. Gassy pauses for a moment and then removes his glasses from his face, using them to repeatedly point at Sidney Warwick and Ms. Greasy-Forks as he addresses them.)
Mr. Gassy: Mr. Warwick, Ms. Greasy-Forks, I am shocked and appalled by what I have seen here today.
Sidney: Thank you, Mr. Gassy. We agree that Roy Speede's actions seven years ago were totally out of line, and we believe that, as a result, his position as World Champion is totally untenable. Furthermore . . .
Mr. Gassy: Shut up! I am shocked and appalled by the fact that the two of you - particularly Mr. Warwick - would bring such allegations before this committee just days before the World Title match at Carnage in what is a clear and transparent effort to have the World Championship handed to Mr. Warwick without having to wrestle Roy Speede.
It is true that, if Mr. Speede acted as Mr. Greasy-Forks claimed all those years ago - which I highly doubt - he absolutely did something that was inappropriate. That being said, those alleged actions, which occurred almost a decade ago, do not warrant stripping him of the World Heavyweight Championship.
Our country is currently having a cultural moment in which female survivors of sexual assault and other legitimate violence are finally finding the power to speak out against their assailants. In the eyes of this committee, the only thing that the two of you have done here today is proverbially spit in the face of every one of those brave women by attempting to co-opt their very real and valid movement to use it for your own selfish means.
Frankly, the only action that I might be inclined to take as a result of today's hearing would be to strip Sidney J. Warwick of his upcoming World Title match because of his participation in this farce, but I'm not going to do that because I am fairly confident that the beating Roy Speede will give him after he sees the tapes of today's proceedings will be a more than sufficient punishment - and may even bring an end to Mr. Warwick's professional wrestling career.
With that said, this hearing is adjourned. May God and Speede have mercy on you, Mr. Warwick.
(With that, an angry Mr. Gassy rises and storms out of the hearing room, followed by the remainder of the championship committee. The assembled audience, knowing that the proceedings are at an end, also start to slowly mill out of the chamber, discussing what they have just seen unfold. Kathleen Greasy-Forks turns to Sidney J. Warwick.)
Greasy-Forks: So when do I get that $50 gift card to the Sizzler that you promised me?
Sidney: It's in the briefcase. Just take it.
(Ms. Greasy-Forks perhaps takes the number one contender a bit too literally and picks up the entire Halliburton, leaving the hearing chamber with it. Warwick, who appears deep in thought, either does not notice or does not care. Once Ms. Greasy-Forks is out of earshot, Sidney begins to address the camera directly.)
Sidney: So, it has come to this. I tried to tell the story of a survivor. I tried to expose Roy Speede for the monster that he is and take him out of the position of prominence within this industry that he does not deserve to occupy. A man who can do what Roy Speede did to Kathleen Greasy-Forks should not be a World Champion. He should not be placed on a pedestal as a spokesperson for major brands or a role model for children. He should be shunned, he should be derided, and he should be removed from public life.
I tried to use the proper channels to do that today. I had a faith in the system that I should have known was unwarranted. The system failed me today, and, more importantly, it failed Kathleen Greasy-Forks. However, even though the system failed us, it doesn't mean that we're out of opportunities to seek justice. We're just going to have to take matters into our own hands and exact that justice at the Carnage pay per view.
Roy Speede, I know very well that Action Wresting didn't want me in this title match. It was readily apparent from the way that they booked the mini-tournament leading up to Carange that they wanted me to fall to Donald Deruty so that the two of you could continue the endless circle-jerk that you've been engaged in since the beginning of this promotion. Then, when D-Day didn't get the job done, they no doubt hoped that one of the other competitors in the four-way match for the title shot would have taken me out, but they didn't count on the fact that some of their favorites like Lincoln Kuechly and Anton Chase choked, preventing them from getting into that bout and leaving me with much weaker competition.
That's the funny thing about justice, though. The arc of history is long, but it always bends towards that justice, to paraphrase one Martin Luther King, Jr. Action Wrestling didn't want me in this match, but that arc of history and the justice it bends towards knew that I needed to be put in the ring with you one-on-one so that I could hold you to account for your crimes of the past.
Some of your fans might be listening to this and saying, "What crimes? What has Roy Speede ever done that could possibly be considered inappropriate?"
But I know the answer to that question. I've heard the testimony of Kathleen Greasy-Forks, and I trust it, because I #BelieveVictims. I don't just throw them away as this championship committee unfortunately chose to do today.
You know what you've done, Mr. Speede, and you know how dreadful it is. You've been subliminally telling us about it this whole time. After all, what's the nickname that you've chosen to go by in Action Wrestling?
"The Silver Lining."
I admit, it's a catchy nickname. It's got a nice ring to it. Let's think for a second about what it actually means, though. It's just one half of a longer proverb which states that, "every cloud has a silver lining." In other words, every time that something terrible happens, there may be some little hope in which you can take comfort - but this still does not change the fact that something terrible happened. Nobody WANTS a silver lining. They would all just as soon have preferred that the terrible thing never occurred in the first place.
You're not just the silver lining, Mr. Speede. You're also the terrible thing that brought it about. You've done disgusting things to Ms. Greasy-Forks and who knows how many other vegans along the eight year international tour of meat-based terror that your professional wrestling career has been.
Every time you enter the ring, Mr. Speede, there's one phrase that we hear repeated over and over again.
"Can you hear me now?"
"Can you hear me now?"
"Can you hear me now?"
That sentence plays on a loop as though you're peddling Verizon's suboptimal cellular phone service.
Nobody's interested in hearing you or your ilk anymore. We're only interested in listening to victims. Victims like Kristen Greasy-Forks. At Carnage, we will hear those victims loudly and clearly. Their cries, their screams against you will ring in your ears every time that I slam you into the mat and every time that my forearm connects with your face, and they will reach a fever pitch when we hear the referee's hand hit the mat for the one, two, and three count, all before a new World Heavyweight Champion is crowned.
This committee could not stop that today, and you will not be able to stop it in Seattle at Carnage, Mr. Speede.
That is where the #MeatOoo movement will finally have its day of reckoning.
That is where you, the victimizer, will become the victim.
We will see you there, Mr. Speede.
(Fin.)
They do not have to wait long, because, just a few moments later, a door to the room opens and in walks the number one contender to the Action Wrestling World Championship, Sidney J. Warwick. Warwick, typically known for wearing ludicrous outfits, is significantly more buttoned-down than usual, dressed in a sharp three-piece gray suit. The only bit of "flair" that he is wearing, so to speak, is a small lapel pin on his left breast, which is in the shape of a transgender pride flag.
The wrestler is accompanied by a woman in her early 50s who we have not seen before. Her looks are unassuming and intellectual, one might say almost professorial. As she and SJW walk towards the smaller of the two tables, she pushes a pair of thick-framed black glasses up her nose. Upon reaching the table, she tugs down the jacket of her khaki-colored pantsuit and sighs deeply before taking a seat.
Sidney Warwick places a hand on her shoulder and whispers to her in a comforting tone.)
Sidney: It's ok. You can do this. You have to remember that we have the truth on our side, and you have to remember that you are stronger than he is.
(Having had his aside with the woman, Warwick pulls back a chair of his own and sits next to her; placing an aluminum Haliburton briefcase on the table in front of him.
Not long after Warwick and his compatriot have positioned themselves at the smaller table, another door to the room opens and through it pours a group of seven Caucasian men in their sixties and seventies. They all sit down at the larger table, looming over Warwick and the mystery woman due to their position on the dais.
The man seated at the center of the seven has a nameplate in front of him, simply reading "Mr. Gassy." He speaks.)
Mr. Gassy: This committee is hereby convened to hear the presentation of Mr. Sidney J. Warwick and also his . . . I'm sorry, what is this woman's relationship to you, Mr. Warwick?
Sidney: Let's just say that she is a victim and I am her advocate. I am here to make sure that her story is heard and appropriate action is taken.
Mr. Gassy: I do have to say, these are extremely unusual proceedings. We are the Action Wrestling Championship Committee, the advisory body that makes determinations regarding the individuals who are to receive title matches. However you have come here today . . .
Sidney: I have come here today to make certain that you strip Roy Speede of the Action Wrestling World Heavyweight Title.
Mr. Gassy: Yes, that's what I was going to say. Before we begin, please raise your right hand.
(Warwick complies with this directive.)
Mr. Gassy: Do you swear that the testimony that you are about to give is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?
Sidney: I affirm that I speak the truth.
Mr. Gassy: Very good. Are you prepared to make an opening statement?
Sidney: I am.
Mr. Gassy: You may proceed.
Sidney: Mr. Gassy, gentlemen of the championship committee, you know who I am. My name is Sidney J. Warwick, and I come here today in pursuit of justice. The man who currently holds the primary championship that your body is charged with administering, Mr. Roy Speede, has committed atrocities in his past which should disqualify him - or any man, for that matter - from being the World Champion.
Three weeks ago, in doing routine opposition research on the man that I then highly suspected I would face at the Carnage pay per view, I was provided with this.
(SJW opens the Halliburton in front of him and removes the Manilla envelope with Roy Speede's name printed on it that he has been carrying around for the last several weeks. He holds it high so that it can be seen by all of the members of the championship committee, and then he places it down on the table in front of him.)
Sidney: I had hoped that it wouldn't come to this. That is why, two weeks ago, prior to the most recent edition of Monday Night Clash, I told Roy Speede that he could avoid all of this if he would relinquish the title belt by the end of the program. However, he clearly refused to do that. That's why I ran in after his match. I was going to confront him, and I was going to give him one last opportunity to do the right thing so that we could avoid having to come before this body.
Yet Roy Speede, as so many other white, heterosexual, cisgender men have done over the years, let his pride get in the way of progress and healing, and the result was the physical confrontation between he and I that everybody saw that the close of Clash. It was my intention to give Mr. Speede what was coming to him as a result of the awful things that I now know he has done, but then one Mr. Ryan Lockhart interfered, perhaps not understanding the gravity of the situation, and my attempts at justice were thwarted.
That's why we are here today . . . because Roy Speede refused and continues to refuse to step up and remedy this situation on his own.
(Warwick reaches over and places his left hand on the shoulder of the mystery woman who is seated next to him.)
Sidney: However, even though I have taken primary responsibility for bringing these shocking allegations to light, this is not about me. This is not my story to tell. Everything relates to this woman, whose life has been irreparably harmed by Roy Speede. I'm going to let her tell you gentlemen the story of what occurred so many years ago.
Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Kathleen Greasy-Forks.
(The previously unnamed woman, now known as Kathleen Greasy-Forks, nods to the championship committee upon being named.)
Mr. Gassy: Ms. Greasy-Forks, we would like to thank you for appearing before us today. We understand that this is not an easy thing for you to do, but we are here today to listen to you. We are not here to judge you. We just want to hear your truth.
Greasy-Forks: Thank you, Mr. Gassy, and thank you members of the championship committee. Thank you most of all, however, to Mr. Sidney J. Warwick, who has empowered me to make sure my voice is heard about the things that Roy Speede did to me. I still suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder from these events, and they haunt me in my nightmares on a weekly if not daily basis. Perhaps the worst thing is that, when I relive these events, I can still hear him laughing. I can still hear him laughing at me, belittling me, and making my very existence into a joke. This is the kind of man that your organization is promoting as a World Champion, and my hope is that, after today, you realize that you should no longer be doing that.
If I could, I would like to read from my prepared statement.
Mr. Gassy: Go ahead.
(Ms. Greasy-Forks takes the Manila envelope that had been in Sidney Warwick's possession and cracks it open for the first time that we have seen, producing a thick document from it and then beginning to read aloud.)
Greasy-Forks: My name is Kathleen Greasy-Forks, and, during the summer of 2011, I worked as a waitress at a small vegan restaurant called "Turn up the Beets" in downtown Salt Lake City. On June 13, I was working our closing shift, which ran until 1 o'clock in the morning. I am not now nor have I ever been a professional wrestling fan, but I now know that there was a wrestling show called "Blast" held in Salt Lake City that day, promoted by a company called the Wrestling Championship Federation.
I learned this in part because, about forty-five minutes before we were going to close, a group of wrestlers came in to the restaurant. There were several of them, and I do not remember all of the names, but there are three who stand out to me. There was one who called himself D-Day, there was one who called himself Jay, and there was, of course, Roy Speede. There may also have been a "PJ" and a "Squee." It seemed that they were all celebrating because the one they called D-Day had won some sort of championship at that evening's show.
Business had been slow that summer, so I was the only waitress working. In fact, other than our chef, I was the only person working. I went to the wrestlers' table, and I brought them menus and cucumber water. Nothing was out of the ordinary at that point, and I said I would be back in a few minutes to take their orders. When I came back, that is when the problems began . . .
(Ms. Greasy-Forks bites her lip and looks down at the table, as though she is having difficulty continuing.)
Sidney: It's OK. You are strong. You can do this.
Greasy-Forks: I . . . I came back to take their orders, and there weren't any issues with most of the wrestlers. Some of them wanted some tabouli, and I think that there was also a large hummus plate ordered. I asked for Roy Speede's order last, and he immediately took a very aggressive tone with me.
Mr. Gassy: Tone is one thing, Ms. Greasy-Forks, but what did he actually do? What did he actually say?
Greasy-Forks: The first thing that I remember him saying is, "Where is all the fucking meat?"
I was a little bit confused, so I asked him what he meant. He just said it again, "Where is all the fucking meat?"
I had been in food service for several years by that point, and I was used to getting the occasional belligerent customer, so I ignored his swears at first and tried to calmly explain to him that we were in a vegan restaurant and did not serve any meat or any other animal products. Then, things got even worse. He looked me square in the eye, pointed at me, and said, "I'm a pro athlete, bitch, and I need meat to fuel this body. If you ain't got no meat here, then you need to prance you sweet ass down the street and go someplace to get me a fucking steak."
And then he started laughing . . . that dreadful, disturbing laughter that I still remember to this day.
I was shaken, but I kept my cool and explained to him that, as a vegan myself, I could not possibly facilitate harming another living creature, so I could not honor his request to go get him a steak, fucking or otherwise. That's when things really went off the rails. Mr. Speede got up from the table, and he yelled in his aggressive Virginian accent, "Oh yeah, well if you ain't into meat, then I'm gonna have to show you how great it is. Why don't you take a look at MY meat, lady."
He put his hands on my shoulders, and he pressed his pelvis against mine. Then, he backed me up against the restaurant's service counter, reached into his pants, and . . . well . . . that's when he whipped it out.
Mr. Gassy: Whipped it out?
Greasy-Forks: Yes, he whipped it out.
Mr. Gassy: He whipped what out, exactly?
(A few tears begin to roll down Ms. Greasy-Forks' cheeks. At this point, Sidney Warwick intervenes.)
Sidney: Please, Mr. Gassy, a bit of sensitivity! Clearly this woman is traumatized, and we have gone well past the point that she needs to relive that trauma. She has made it abundantly clear what happened to her at the hands of Roy Speede on June 13, 2011.
Mr. Gassy: Mr. Warwick, with all due respect, you may have come here as Ms. Greasy-Forks' advocate, but you are not the focus of this hearing. If this woman is accusing our World Champion, Roy Speede, of what we think she is accusing him of, then we need to hear all of the particulars.
So, Ms. Greasy-Forks, I ask you again: What did he whip out?
Greasy-Forks: It was terrible. I can remember it in such detail. The dry, rough skin. The unpleasant smell. The veins. Oh, the veins. He whipped out . . . a massive wad of beef jerky.
Mr. Gassy: Beef jerky?
Greasy-Forks: I suppose that it could have been lamb jerky or turkey jerky. I'm a vegan; I really don't know. But it was definitely meat. I could identify the stink of animal oppression and murder anywhere. Roy Speede took that wad of jerky as he was just inches from my face, he shoved it into his mouth, and he began violently chewing. He spoke while he chewed too, with long, gross strings of saliva connecting the top and the bottom of his jaw. He almost had a look of ecstasy on his face, and I remember the last words he said as he pulled away from me. He said . . . he said . . .
"Meat, oooooo."
I couldn't take it anymore at that point. I managed to muster every ounce of strength that I could - fortunately he's not a very large man even though he's supposed to be a wrestler - and I shoved him back just far enough that I was able to slip away and run out of the restaurant. I don't even know what happened to our chef or any of the wrestlers' orders. I didn't go back that night. I couldn't bring myself to, and I couldn't bring myself to ask what had happened when I went back to work the next day.
Mr. Gassy: And you mean to tell me that, despite suffering this allegedly traumatic experience in which a man ate meat in front of you that you failed to tell anybody about it - including this committee - for seven years until you conveniently brought it to Mr. Warwick's attention just before he was to receive a shot at Roy Speede's World Title?
Greasy-Forks: I tried to tell other people at the time. Really, I did. In fact, I went on Twitter, and I told my story using a hashtag that I had come up with based on Roy Speede's last words to me that evening: #MeatOoo.
However, it seemed like nobody was listening. The #MeatOoo movement never got off the ground. Why didn't it work? The only reason that I can think of is that Twitter just hadn't yet become the positive force for social change that we all know it to be now. This was the summer of 2011. Instead of gaining traction and mainstream media acceptance, #MeatOoo just got buried underneath a bunch of memes about Rebecca Black, Nyan Cat, and Rebecca Black riding Nyan Cat.
Mr. Gassy: And what sort of interaction did you have with Roy Speede after this incident at your restaurant?
Greasy-Forks: None.
Mr. Gassy: Absolutely none?
Greasy-Forks: Absolutely none.
(Mr. Gassy pauses for a moment and then removes his glasses from his face, using them to repeatedly point at Sidney Warwick and Ms. Greasy-Forks as he addresses them.)
Mr. Gassy: Mr. Warwick, Ms. Greasy-Forks, I am shocked and appalled by what I have seen here today.
Sidney: Thank you, Mr. Gassy. We agree that Roy Speede's actions seven years ago were totally out of line, and we believe that, as a result, his position as World Champion is totally untenable. Furthermore . . .
Mr. Gassy: Shut up! I am shocked and appalled by the fact that the two of you - particularly Mr. Warwick - would bring such allegations before this committee just days before the World Title match at Carnage in what is a clear and transparent effort to have the World Championship handed to Mr. Warwick without having to wrestle Roy Speede.
It is true that, if Mr. Speede acted as Mr. Greasy-Forks claimed all those years ago - which I highly doubt - he absolutely did something that was inappropriate. That being said, those alleged actions, which occurred almost a decade ago, do not warrant stripping him of the World Heavyweight Championship.
Our country is currently having a cultural moment in which female survivors of sexual assault and other legitimate violence are finally finding the power to speak out against their assailants. In the eyes of this committee, the only thing that the two of you have done here today is proverbially spit in the face of every one of those brave women by attempting to co-opt their very real and valid movement to use it for your own selfish means.
Frankly, the only action that I might be inclined to take as a result of today's hearing would be to strip Sidney J. Warwick of his upcoming World Title match because of his participation in this farce, but I'm not going to do that because I am fairly confident that the beating Roy Speede will give him after he sees the tapes of today's proceedings will be a more than sufficient punishment - and may even bring an end to Mr. Warwick's professional wrestling career.
With that said, this hearing is adjourned. May God and Speede have mercy on you, Mr. Warwick.
(With that, an angry Mr. Gassy rises and storms out of the hearing room, followed by the remainder of the championship committee. The assembled audience, knowing that the proceedings are at an end, also start to slowly mill out of the chamber, discussing what they have just seen unfold. Kathleen Greasy-Forks turns to Sidney J. Warwick.)
Greasy-Forks: So when do I get that $50 gift card to the Sizzler that you promised me?
Sidney: It's in the briefcase. Just take it.
(Ms. Greasy-Forks perhaps takes the number one contender a bit too literally and picks up the entire Halliburton, leaving the hearing chamber with it. Warwick, who appears deep in thought, either does not notice or does not care. Once Ms. Greasy-Forks is out of earshot, Sidney begins to address the camera directly.)
Sidney: So, it has come to this. I tried to tell the story of a survivor. I tried to expose Roy Speede for the monster that he is and take him out of the position of prominence within this industry that he does not deserve to occupy. A man who can do what Roy Speede did to Kathleen Greasy-Forks should not be a World Champion. He should not be placed on a pedestal as a spokesperson for major brands or a role model for children. He should be shunned, he should be derided, and he should be removed from public life.
I tried to use the proper channels to do that today. I had a faith in the system that I should have known was unwarranted. The system failed me today, and, more importantly, it failed Kathleen Greasy-Forks. However, even though the system failed us, it doesn't mean that we're out of opportunities to seek justice. We're just going to have to take matters into our own hands and exact that justice at the Carnage pay per view.
Roy Speede, I know very well that Action Wresting didn't want me in this title match. It was readily apparent from the way that they booked the mini-tournament leading up to Carange that they wanted me to fall to Donald Deruty so that the two of you could continue the endless circle-jerk that you've been engaged in since the beginning of this promotion. Then, when D-Day didn't get the job done, they no doubt hoped that one of the other competitors in the four-way match for the title shot would have taken me out, but they didn't count on the fact that some of their favorites like Lincoln Kuechly and Anton Chase choked, preventing them from getting into that bout and leaving me with much weaker competition.
That's the funny thing about justice, though. The arc of history is long, but it always bends towards that justice, to paraphrase one Martin Luther King, Jr. Action Wrestling didn't want me in this match, but that arc of history and the justice it bends towards knew that I needed to be put in the ring with you one-on-one so that I could hold you to account for your crimes of the past.
Some of your fans might be listening to this and saying, "What crimes? What has Roy Speede ever done that could possibly be considered inappropriate?"
But I know the answer to that question. I've heard the testimony of Kathleen Greasy-Forks, and I trust it, because I #BelieveVictims. I don't just throw them away as this championship committee unfortunately chose to do today.
You know what you've done, Mr. Speede, and you know how dreadful it is. You've been subliminally telling us about it this whole time. After all, what's the nickname that you've chosen to go by in Action Wrestling?
"The Silver Lining."
I admit, it's a catchy nickname. It's got a nice ring to it. Let's think for a second about what it actually means, though. It's just one half of a longer proverb which states that, "every cloud has a silver lining." In other words, every time that something terrible happens, there may be some little hope in which you can take comfort - but this still does not change the fact that something terrible happened. Nobody WANTS a silver lining. They would all just as soon have preferred that the terrible thing never occurred in the first place.
You're not just the silver lining, Mr. Speede. You're also the terrible thing that brought it about. You've done disgusting things to Ms. Greasy-Forks and who knows how many other vegans along the eight year international tour of meat-based terror that your professional wrestling career has been.
Every time you enter the ring, Mr. Speede, there's one phrase that we hear repeated over and over again.
"Can you hear me now?"
"Can you hear me now?"
"Can you hear me now?"
That sentence plays on a loop as though you're peddling Verizon's suboptimal cellular phone service.
Nobody's interested in hearing you or your ilk anymore. We're only interested in listening to victims. Victims like Kristen Greasy-Forks. At Carnage, we will hear those victims loudly and clearly. Their cries, their screams against you will ring in your ears every time that I slam you into the mat and every time that my forearm connects with your face, and they will reach a fever pitch when we hear the referee's hand hit the mat for the one, two, and three count, all before a new World Heavyweight Champion is crowned.
This committee could not stop that today, and you will not be able to stop it in Seattle at Carnage, Mr. Speede.
That is where the #MeatOoo movement will finally have its day of reckoning.
That is where you, the victimizer, will become the victim.
We will see you there, Mr. Speede.
(Fin.)