sympathy░for░the░devil (ぽヤ挨ズ)
Apr 23, 2019 12:48:00 GMT -5
Alexander Pasternak, Spencer Adams, and 7 more like this
Post by Jared Holmes on Apr 23, 2019 12:48:00 GMT -5
[The scene is a lit stage. Not a wrestling stage – an old, wooden floored theater stage. The house lights have been dimmed; a single line of lights run the length of the lip with a spotlight shining directly in the center of the floor. Blue velvet curtains flank either side. It’s silent.]
[Golden ball rolls in from the left-hand side of the stage; it is no bigger than a foam dodge ball. The ball gleans with a metallic shine. When it reaches the middle of the stage, it comes to a sudden stop. Following the ball, a man in a yellow suit and a mirror ball mask walks onto the stage. His hands are behind his back – he walks slowly and deliberately, his blue suede shoes almost seeming to kick and shuffle like a hobo in a 1940’s vaudeville. He stops when he reaches the ball – at his arrival, the ball backs away on its own as if edging from the man in trepidation. He raises his fingers and gives a snap; the ball scurries to his side like a faithful thrall. He turns to the audience, removes the mask, and reveals himself as Jared Holmes.]
Jared Holmes: “This trick is done with a single piece of thread.”
[The ball bounces twice, staying hovered in the air on the second bounce. Jared looks down at it, gives it an approving pat, and it falls back to the stage.]
Jared Holmes: Penn and Teller trick, mostly performed by Teller but introduced by Penn. A simple trick – Penn never really cared for it – but what made it was the introduction. You know how the trick is done: it was just explained to you. But despite knowing the secret, despite now focusing your undivided attention trying to figure out just how the fuck a piece of thread manipulates a ball to jump and roll you won’t be able to figure it out. And that’s what makes the trick so beautiful in its execution – it’s actually better when you know.
[Jared paces to the right hand side of the stage. The ball follows, quickly accelerating so it an get in front of him as if to halt his path. He gives it a kick – it flies two feet before stopping mid-air. Then it floats back to him, twirling and spiraling around his torso before landing on his shoulder.]
Jared Holmes: In a similar vein, this next trick is done with my eyes
[Jared closes his eyes. The ball begins to vibrate, softly at first before becoming a noticeable and violent tremor. With an arm extended, Jared allows the ball to roll down to his hand before perching precariously atop the tip of his finger. He smiles.]
Jared Holmes: I’m going to win Havoc. It’s not about the “if”, it’s about how many of you I dispatch personally. Some odd number of competitors – random entrant order. S’fine. Bring it. On my first match of this sort, I eliminated six men on my own, coming shy of victory. Where do you think the Six God monicker came from?
[The ball gracefully floats from his finger, gliding through the air until coming to repose on his other, outstretched finger.]
Jared Holmes: Matches like Havoc? They favor people like me. That’s the easiest pitch I can make: there’s the trick. This isn’t a single match – it’s not some square up in a fucking parking lot. This match? This is the single most important match of the year. If you have not spent all year preparing for it – studying and watching your competitors for a chink in the armor or the drop of a little too much information – you are not going to win. You need to know the entire company like the back of your hand. And I did that safely and quietly.
[The ball splashes a few times, landing back on the finger.]
Jared Holmes: I beat Magikarp Jump two months ago, by the way.
[He places the ball on the ground before reaching into his jacket pocket. After retrieving a blue handkerchief, he looks down at the ball. He bends over, flicking the cloth like a bullfighter’s cape. The ball backs up hesitantly before making a roll forward, its speed at a dash before Jared flicks the handkerchief out of its way. This performance continues as Jared speaks.]
Jared Holmes: I always liked stage magic. It’s funny, a lot people think it’s “gay” and you’d probably think I would, too. You gotta keep some things close to the chest. See, that’s a trick I learned from stage magic: there’s power in surprise and secrecy – misdirection is a powerful tool. So you put up a facade, you play the fool... then you go in for the kill. But when you’re dealing with a locker room that has a combined IQ of 90? Well... sometimes you can’t help but tell them the trick is done with a piece of thread. Just to blow their minds that much more.
[Getting noticeably bored, Jared stands up. The ball nudges his foot like a puppy eager for attention. He looks down and smiles, reaching an outstretched palm. The ball rolls happily up his forearm to his bicep. Jared cuddles it like a newborn, patting it affectionately as he rocks it back and forth.]
Jared Holmes: I’m not the Jared of a few years ago. I mean that in a lot of ways: I’m not 23-years-old anymore. I’m not the pissed-off trust fund kid of a millionaire – I’m not a lean guzzling luchador – I’m not scratching the eyes out of pictures of superstars not worth my time. I wouldn’t be so lazy as to allow Dion Necurat to get one up on me. I wouldn’t be bothered by Johnny Rabid doing his little kooky dance coup or turn on Wade. Humbled? No, fuck no. There’s just more amusement in grooming my successor. Kinda like what King was supposed to be. That is – until it came to Havoc. I always intended to win this, just to prove I still could. After all, who’s the successor if he can’t beat the master?
[With his free hand, Jared reaches into his pants pocket. He produces a knife, the blade flicking open with the press of a button. The blade is quickly embedded into the ball, the golden sphere loudly popping. A scrap of the rubber skin hangs limply from his wrist, the evidence of the bit of thread truly proven. Jared snips it with another flick of the knife before turning back to the crowd.]
Jared Holmes: A bunch of you are confused, aren’t you? “Who the hell is this manager rambling about stage magic, acting like he’s god’s gift to wrestling?” Well, I suppose maybe I should start over:
Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and taste.
My name is Jared Holmes, and I was born perfect: athletic, rich, popular, and clever. I have now lived twenty-six years never having to take “No” for an answer. I formed the most dominant stable in the history of another company, and I brought it to AW just to prove it wasn’t a fluke. I am a former champion and accessory to champions, and I am the most dangerous man in this match.
There’s an extreme irony that most of you are probably going to write me off. At first, I considered putting in as much effort as the lot of you are probably going to put in against me, so I just made a list and started changing your names:
[He reaches into his jacket pocket and produces a small notebook. He draws a pen embedded in its spine and flicks it open to the first few pages before clearing his throat.]
Jared Holmes: “Faggot Maddox”
“Wrestler neverhadseX”
“Powerbottom Perez”
“Eli Lobo-tomizeMeSoIDontHaveToWatchHim”
“Carlos Blowsmen”
“Chase Jacksoff”
“Bitchop”
“Lick-on Cockly”
“Zombie McBoresUs”
“Claire JackMeOffKins”
“Sam TouchesKidsgrove”
“Timothy Lames”
“Jordan Lee-aveAndGetADayJob”
“Handle MiMeato”
“Casey LOLliday”
“Estrella Luiz”
[Jared pauses and looks up.]
Jared Holmes: This is just an ugly name. Ugly to read, ugly to say. No changes needed – someone slap her parents.
[He clears his throat again and looks back down.]
Jared Holmes: “Hazel BlOverton”
“N-wordvL”
“James WolfOnMyBalls”
“Derrick Gaydeb”
[Jared closes the notebook and reinserts the pen. He places it back in his jacket pocket.]
Jared Holmes: I could go on, but you’re not getting off the hook that easily. Not all of you. That’s why I’d like to introduce the “Shadowlove Rule” to you.
Simple to grasp:
“you must be as good as Shadowlove to be worth my attention.”
Shadowlove is a perfectly okay wrestler. He is hovering the top of the middle of the card. He occasionally gets a big title shot. I’m not sure if he’s ever held a belt, but one day he’ll have a good showing with whatever unimportant mid-tier nonsense is in this company, he’ll make it better, and then he’ll put over the next big thing who’ll use that belt to position himself for a shot at the real champion. Shadowlove is almost there, he’s just missing “it” and probably hit his ceiling. He’s not great – but he’s not bad. He’s the McDonald’s of professional wrestling: he’s consistent. You always know what you’re getting when “Personal Jesus” hits: you’ll get a swagger to the ring, followed by “Her Strut” as he and Miyamoto dance, then you’ll sometimes hear his music again later or maybe that of his opponent. It’s pretty fifty-fifty.
So with that rule applied, I hope that every single person not named from this point forward should take their omission with all intentional insult. No, Talent Enhancers, you’ll not be getting some dissection. Sorry, QDT, I truly don’t give a shit about you.
But I do give a shit about Spencer Adams. If anyone, I give more of a shit about Spencer Adams then any single person in this match. I’m also sure that Spencer is the only guy in this match with half the brain to take my participation seriously. Hope you’re listening Adams, you dumb Uncle Ruckus, because it’s the closest thing you’ll get to a compliment from me. I hate you and find you absolutely pathetic. You’re a B+ talent with A- mentality ever since jumped in a tub of Vanta Black after taking a self-help guru’s “rebrand yourself” advice too seriously.
Let me give you a little bit of quick applause on something: it takes real determination and obsequiousness to fail upward as spectacularly as you have. From biker gang buttboy with a bunch of stupid and borderline incest-y family drama to the Jared Kushner of professional wrestling to a paper tiger Black Panther, Christ you’ve had a fucking career. Couldn’t make it as a stable member. Couldn’t make it as a singles wrestler. Tried being the Big Boss to run the show and still couldn’t do that well. So you round up a posse and try to play the Big Gungan only for those of us who’ve been around to see through your Jar-Jar Binks ass.
Let’s make something crystal clear, Adams: your little reign on the top here has been a failure of everyone else, not a success of yours. It’s why the second a motivated stud like Ryan came into his own, you took a tumble down to playing grab-ass with cut-rate losers like Lincoln Cuckly. Imagine that: Lincoln fucking Cuckly was able to take your hard work and get the final spot in this match because… because…? Wrestling logic? Some stupid loophole? I thought you #FoughtSmart – why the fuck didn’t you go kneecap Lincoln in the parking lot? Didn’t you literally beat him recently – why the fuck didn’t you take your number back?
It’s unbelievable. You have no hunger – no grit – no determination – no intensity. You play the “smart guy” to hide the fact you’re a fucking bitchboy who gets rolled by anyone else getting named here. The only reason you’re getting any attention is your nasty little habit of undercutting me, which – let me promise you – won’t happen again.
[Jared pauses. He takes a deep breath, smiles, and slicks his hair out of his face.]
Jared Holmes: If I wanted to be proud of facing someone who gave me B+ effort, I’d give old Casey Holliday a call. But that’s not needed – I got my shot this Sunday.
There’s a lot of eyes on you, Casey; mine included. I can’t afford to take my eyes off someone that the Champ is champing at the bit to face. You’ve been dominant. You’ve been a number of names who hover on the Shadowlove line. From the primordial swamp of failure that was UCI, you’ve held a badge of legacy and pride. And for that I say “congratulations”.
[Jared smiles, the toothy and hungry grin of a shark.]
Jared Holmes: Congratulations for successfully polishing a turd. Congratulations for stuffing this new company with the same cloying sentimental bullshit the dumbshits in the back love. Congratulations on pegging yourself as something no better than you are.
For all the gossip and all the praise on your name, I have been nothing but whelmed about you. Bolstered by the gangrenous division you inhabited, looking good by comparison, you’ve pulled the wool over a lot of eyes. But where are your chips? Where are your accolades beyond? Gimme some names Casey – how about you prove you’re worth half the talk you get.
[He pauses.]
Jared Holmes: You want my take, kid? Cut the bullshit. Drop all the UCI talk, ignore you ever held the belt, act like you’re actually someone who should face Ryan. Ryan would never be grateful with having a consolation prize around his waist, just as I won’t be content losing Havoc. You’ve got no focus. You never saw me coming. But there’s always next year – maybe we’ll see you haven’t hit that glass ceiling yet.
But speaking of bitches overestimating their chances, how about we discuss Jaice fucking Wilds.
[Jared pauses again, his face twisting into a sneer. He spits.]
Jared Holmes: I’m not going to address the rest of your little funbunch. Not that idiotic witch or that other Harry Potter-looking bitchboy. No, Jaice, I’m looking at you.
Let me tell you a little secret: I fucking hate you. I hate everything about you from your shuffling of personas to your idiotic blog posts to your dumb bitch girlfriend. But what I hate more than anything is the nauseating stench of delusion that permeates every pore of your dwarfy little body.
You have been given three more opportunities at the Champ than you ever deserved. What started as a literal fucking joke turned into a nuisance that turned into a cancer. I hate your stupid finisher. I hate your stupid little zingers you must chuckle at when you scribble them on a legal pad at home. I hate this stupid. fucking. Doom Squad shit so. fucking. much. it makes me want to lobotomize myself with a screwdriver. I would say I can’t wait to beat the dogshit out of you, but I just know – deep in my heart of hearts – that you’ll be sauntering out the next week with a big dopey grin on your face, back in Jaice World, fighting WhoHonestlyFuckingCares Squad. Please – fucking please – drink bleach.
[The sneer leaves Jared’s lips as he stares thoughtfully beyond the audience.]
Jared Holmes: And speaking of yappy dogs in need of a good kick, coming in last is the only thing that makes Lincoln Cuckly worth mentioning. And that’s all that’s going to be mentioned about it.
[His eyes lower back to the audience. He smiles.]
Jared Holmes: I won’t waste anymore time – too many shows sort of slog through the middle. No, s’best to move it along. So let’s focus on the big “what if’s” in this match: Dandy DiVito and Lissie Hope.
All things considered, Dandy? You’re going in first, so you’ll probably be half-dead by the time I enter the match. Which is great news – you’re one of the few chumps in this match with a decent shot of winning from a different position. But that’s not how this is going to go because I know guys like you:
Are you clever? Sure. Are you smart? Absolutely not.
A smart man doesn’t find himself getting locked up and doesn’t have to swagger around. I’ve seen your type a million times before: the out-of-time wannabe gladiator who thinks he’d be a warlord in the post-apocalypse and has a bark worse than his bite. You can close your eyes and picture something better for yourself – some heights that seem feasible to your lot in life – but you’ll always be held back by an inflated sense of self and lack of “something more.” You’ve got the mind of a two-bit con man, but you’re not a scheme. You’re not big enough to be a bull in a china shop – you’re just a chimp.
Being a four-out-of-five across the board isn’t good enough. Nobody wants your ugly-ass face on the souvenir cup, anyway. But you’ve got that barbarian spirit. That’s why you’re going to almost make it. You’ll valiantly fight every single competitor that comes in the ring. You’ll gouge the eyes of a few, kick a couple in the crotch, and maybe fish-hook a cheek. But you’ll fight every single one out of that sense of dumb animal fury. Which, unfortunately, doesn’t bode well for you because anyone with half a brain can smell pussy on you.
Don’t worry, Dandy, I’ll look you in the eye before I toss you out. You can go out like a gladiator.
[Jared cups his chin in though, his index finger tapping his tooth as he taps his foot.]
Jared Holmes: And that brings us to Lissie. Lissie, Lissie, Lissie – AW’s new wunderkind wrestler. Beautiful, talented, a good record? I’m impressed – hell, give me a call sometime. I’d like to wrap your legs around my head and wear you like a feedbag. And it’s even better that I know you’re good at choking.
[His hand drops – he frowns in disappointment.]
Jared Holmes: Sam Kidsgrove, Lissie. Sam-fucking-Kidsgrove. I can’t think of a more discrediting, humiliating, and exposing loss than that. How the fuck do you have so much potential – show so much promise – and burn out against such a cakewalk of a competitor? I couldn’t figure it out – I watched your tape over and over again… and then I decided to pull up your Twitter.
[He shakes his head solemnly, disgust flooding his face.]
Jared Holmes: If you hang out with losers, you’ll become one. It’s a slow creeping epidemic of failure that infects everyone it touches. One moment you’re riding high, the next you’re palling around with Estrella Luiz and Kennedy Matthews, which in turn puts you in the same orbit as Jaice Wilds. It’s like a family tree of shitty, “think-they’re-better-than-they-are” wrestlers. And suddenly? It all made perfect sense. Christ, what an excellent underlining.
You have a zero percent chance in this match because your head isn’t in it and you haven’t deigned yourself better than the scumsuckers who bottom feed in this company. You have announced loudly “I am no better than mediocre. In spite of all of my gifts and abilities, I am very content being a Shadowlove or below as long as I find love along the way.” That’s not how competition works, Lissie. There aren’t participation trophies in Havoc. Moral victories are for minor league coaches. Just toss yourself over the top fucking rope already – I’m sure your girl crush will be in the back ready to rub your shoulders.
By the way, being a dyke to score cheap fan service points with management is passé.
Which reminds me: NvL is in this match.
[Jared chuckles.]
Jared Holmes: NvL could be the most dangerous person in this match. NvL will probably not be the most dangerous person in this match because he hasn’t done anything in a month, suggesting he’s already lost focus and is probably two steps out the door. That is the nature of the best with him: you either get the best or you get almost nothing.
Listen up, you fucking dwarf: I don’t care how sp00ky you think you are with your nubby wrist or “hit several times with a frying pan” face: I’ve been looking to fuck you up for a hot second. This has been coming since a few companies ago when you had that weird hog farmer servant who wanted to suck my dick. But the reason I want to fuck you up so bad is I’m sick of this little routine: you come in, you wow a few people, everyone treats you like the opening of the seventh seal, then you fuck off back to whatever dumpster you crawled out of.
You are not the Anti-Christ. You have never been better than just good enough. And you can get the Gravedigger co-sign, you can wow a bunch of idiots, and you can have the masses gasping, but I see through you.
Havoc isn’t just going to be about me winning and you losing. It’s going to be about me discrediting you in the process.
[Jared stares out to the audience, the lights lowering.]
Jared Holmes: My name is Jared Holmes. I was born perfect: beautiful, athletic, intelligent. I have never taken no for an answer. On a whim, I put together the most powerful stable of all time on three separate occasions. With a wave of my hand, I have brought Action Wrestling to its knees. I selected, groomed, and corrupted the ultimate champion: one with speed, strength, and quick enough wit to hold the championship for an unprecedented amount of time. I’ve reveled in the destruction of every enemy and gladly played the court jester.
On Sunday, I’ll finally show you what I’m capable of.
I go into this match with my best friend and yet another of my hand-picked protégés to guide me to victory. In every situation like this, I’ve come out on top. My record speaks for itself. Shadowlove can call me a has been, Estrella Luiz can call me a loser, and Lincoln can call me worthless. Words are word – I only strive for results.
[Jared turns on his heel and begins a slow, methodical walk off-stage.]
Jared Holmes: Bring them on. Bring them all on. I don’t care who the surprises are. Maybe even He will show up. But if one thing’s clear, it’s you’ve all forgotten who I am. I find it insulting. And for that? I’m going to win Havoc. And then I’m going to see if Ryan’s a worth heir.
[He stops. Looking back over his shoulder to the audience, he grins wide and hungry.]
Jared Holmes: And the best part? Is that none of you can stop me.
[He continues offstage, whistling lightly.]
Jared Holmes: Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name.
[FIN.]