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Chris Chaos · (06-21-2018)

The opening avatar came on the screen--dark and bleak, showing a man in a full trench coat walking down an alley, with shots of Chris blending in and out.

Then the scene cuts to pristine Clearwater Beach, Florida. It shows Pier 60, the cocaine white sand, the greenish hue of the Gulf rolling in. Arial view. It took us over the city of Clearwater and over the Courtney Campbell Bridge, into Tampa.

The skyline of Tampa is now visible as music plays in the background, light enough to be notice but soft enough not to distract the viewer from what is going on in the picture. It passed by some historic buildings in Ybor City, one of the oldest and most stories districts in the entire city.

It circled around the city as THE X-TREME WRESTLING FEDERATION PRESENTS: shows up on the screen. Street signs from inner Tampa are shown as it moves away from the city, towards Pasco County.

Finally, it cuts to Chris, taking off his sunglasses and looking into the camera as the scene fades to black.

THE CHRIS CHAOS SHOW

EPISODE 9

The Life and Times of Griffin MacAlister.

The car was up on the lift. A man with greasy dark hair that looked like it had never been washed, sat underneath it. He had on a light blue jumpsuit with a name tag. Grif. The light blue jumper was stained with dirt and grime, and his boots looked as though they were covered in dog shit. A sheen of sweat covered his face, running through his wispy, gross facial hair.

Grif was the kind of guy who could fix anything, or so he would tell you. He also believed in secret orders, the government was filled with aliens sent here to control us, September 11th was an inside job---you know, the normal mumbo jumbo. Grif, however, was ahead of the curve because he had all of his teeth. Yellow in all of their unbrushed glory, he still had a full set.

Grif was the kinda guy who didn't talk much. Years of bullying had made him immune to social interaction. He didn't like people, and he made it known. That was part of the reason they kept in him in the garage and didn't let him interact with customers. He was their Sloth, they kept him fed and paid--though barely--and he kept doing what he does best..........fixing things that aren't his.

Grif was a good fixer. A good worker. All he ever knew was fixing things. He was the type of kid who would fix people's skateboards, hot-wire cars, jimmy-rig anything. He was the one the popular kids would promise not to beat up if he got the dent out of their parents car that they acquired during a long night out partying. Grif has had a tough life. His parents were nonexistent. Grif was his own parents. This made him cold, uncaring, unwavering. Grif had hopes and dreams, like any kid. He looked up and saw the stars and wished he could grab one, just like anyone else. His natural talent and ability---he flourished in this. He spent his entire life doing something that was a fall back job. He spent his "God given" talents on doing a job that high school drop outs do. Grif probably didn't believe in God, so lets just say his talent. Grif spent his entire life doing something that requires a middle school education and excelling at it.

You connect the red wire to the blue wire........

You put the lugnut in the hole..........twist.

You patch the tire..........

These were menial tasks. Meanwhile, while Grif used most people's safety job" to take his mind off how badly this world had pwned him previously, he failed to fix the one thing that mattered. He failed to fix his own life. Grif would get off his shift today, would get into his rusted out beater car that sounded like a lawnmower, would sputter home to his run down trailer and pop open a Natural Ice tall boy. His TV still had those bunny ear antennas, forget Spectrum. They were a scam anyway. Anything and everything was a scam. That is how Grif lived. The world was out to get him.

He would pop open his jumper and expose his beater, which used to be white but now was an off-tan, with an "ahhh". Grif was an odd dude, for sure. Kind of a skinny version of Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force, except without the friends. One, three, five tall boys, and Grif would pass out on the now-shiny couch, snoring so loud the birds didn't want to come near his house. Then the next day he would wake up and do it all over again.

Grif had no direction in his life. He had no purpose other than being a slave to other people's needs. "Hey, this car is broken! Fix it monkey!" That is all Grif has ever been and ever will be.

One day while Grif is sitting in the garage trying to figure out a brake situation in a foreign car, his boss came back.

"Griffin!"

His head snapped towards the door. Through the window in the door leading into the shop he could see a woman. She was wearing nice clothes and had that "let me speak to the manager" haircut.

"Grif, I have a transmission issue here. Lady wants us to take a look at it. I think it may be the alternator, also. Cars a mess. Finish that up and get working on this, she doesn't have a lot of time to wait."

Grif already had a workload that was far beyond his capacity. He wasn't even halfway done with these brakes. He felt a tightness in his chest. He nodded at his boss and looked down at the floor. This was all getting to be too much. That is when Griffin decided he was going to make a decision. He didn't wanna do this anymore. He threw the wrench and got up. He took his dusty hat off and tossed it on the floor. He walked towards the doors to the garage. He was going to get out of here, he was going to make something of himself for once.

He was going to be a wrestler. Wrestling was one of the only shows he could watch on his fuzzy 8 inch TV screen, and he figured he could do that too.....you know, since he was sooooooooo good at being a grease monkey. He could do anything!

Boy was he pissed. He even thought of a finishing move. He would call it P.O.A, Pissed on Arrival. He would really be the shit. The mechanic turned wrestler, the feel good story. Hell, maybe he would even get a pair of cheap plastic sunglasses to add to the outfit. Jeans, oh would it feel good to wear jeans and not these damn jump suit pants. Maybe a nice white tee. Get himself a leather jacket at Goodwill. He would be the shit, people would love him. He would be the angry dude who hated the world. It would be great.

As soon as he got to the door he heard that piercing voice again.

"GRIFFIN"

He didn't care, he was done with this place, done being a slave.

"Griffin where the fuck are you going!"

His boss had caught up to him quickly. He was going to be berrated in the garage in front of everyone. Why couldn't his boss wait until he got outside at least?

Because Grif was a pee on, a nobody, and respect? Pssst, what the fuck was that?

"I don't know where the hell you think you are going....but you better get back in there and do your job! I don't pay you to do nothing!"

Grif couldn't say anything. He knew he was going to be a wrestler. He was going to fix his life for once.

"I don't know who you think you are, or what you think you are, but you are a mechanic. You work on cars. That is all you will ever be. If you wanted to be something else, you should have made better decisions in your life."

He saw the XWF try out flier hanging out of Grif's pocket.

"A wrestler? You want to be a wrestler? That is the funniest damn thing I have ever heard! Hey, everyone, Grif here is gonna be a wrestler! A pro wrestler! HA!"

His boss got right up in his face and spoke quietly.

"You are barely even a professional mechanic. Now get back in there before I single handily put you on welfare."

Grif did what he was told. He sat there working on these cars, in this heat, hating his life. One day, he would be a wrestler. He just knew it.

One day, he became that wrestler.

Now, he was going to give it a shot again. He had dreams now just like he had then. He was going to be something. Little did Grif know that he was never going to be anything more than Grif the Mechanic, and he was going to lose to Chris Chaos on Savage just like he lost that day to his boss.....

in embarrassing fashion.

"Griffin. How ya feeling from that Steel Cage match buddy? How are you feeling knowing that you gave Finn Kuhn his only victory in recent memory? How do you feel knowing you are going up against the best in this business? I bet not too great. I wouldn't. I would be shitting myself. But I am not you. I am not some depressed, grunge-rock band knockoff whose parents didn't want him and he has to express himself by wearing a leather jacket and never trimming his bangs. Griffin, I am Chris motherfucking Chaos, and I feel better now than I have felt in a long time. I welcome the challenge. There are whispers around the XWF community that this may be my first true test since becoming champion.........but again, whispers. Nobody is saying that outloud because nobody believes that. You pride yourself on being a mechanic, a profession even mechanics don't want to be, and your reckless nature as well as disregard for human well being. Do you know who you are in the ring against? I haven't cared about another human beings welfare since I got here. Fuck you, pay me. That is the way it has to be.

Everyone wants to talk about the good old days. The Griffin that used to be. The HAS-BEEN. I am sure everyone remembers Steve Davids triumphant return. I squashed that before it got started and now I have a chance to do that again. You may have been good at one point, Griff, but I am the best now. You were relevant in 2015......then you've lost twice since you've been back. Maybe........juuuuuust maybe, you don't have it anymore. Did that ever cross your mind? Maybe you just aren't what you used to be. Your time has come and gone. You were hot once but haven't done dick since.

The perfect prey.

The man whose life has been broken, and whose career has fallen to the wayside. The one who has nothing to lose. My favorite. Nothing to lose but everything to gain by becoming the television champion. The feel good story for a man whose life has been anything but. The perfect candiate to be Equalized.

You see, Griff, feel good stories only work in Disney movies. This is the real world, and in the XWF, the bad guy wins. No happy endings here. Just pain, misery and torture. The XWF isn't a place for the weak minded and certainly not a place for the weak at heart.

That is what you are, nothing but a woe-is-me bitch made punk. I am going to expose you as such. You may have won over the hearts of everyone watching with your little sob story of a promo, but not me. I am ice cold. I have to heart left no be affected. I am going to break you beyond repair. I am going to break you down to your very core. This is something you can't put back together. This is something that you can't fix---a matter of pride. Your pride is going to hurt worse than your body does because you will come to the realization that your little comeback was all for naught. That your little comeback meant nothing because you failed--yet again. You failed at being a champion, you failed at winning your first match back, you failed at being the feel good story. You F-A-I-L-E-D. That will come to you when you are laying in the ring, looking at the Universal Studio lights, wondering when the pain in your ribs will leave. Griffin, you've battled through a lot. You've come a long way. Some people would applaud that. I, however, do not. Quite frankly, I think you suck. I think you're a complete joke, a waste of space and Vinnie's money, and I think you never should have bothered crawling out of whatever hole you live in to come back. I think your entire existence is bullshit. You aren't worth a dixie cup of dip spit, but everyone here seems to think you are a challenge to me. A threat to this title. A crack in the walls that surround Empire. Newsflash: you're not. These people don't care about you. This roster doesn't care about you. When your music hits those people are going to cheer simply because they know you get a chance to face me. They want to see me break a sweat. I don't care about pops, Griff, I don't care what the fans think. They can boo all they want, but at the end of the day they still buy my tee shirts. I don't care about my image, my reputation, how I am perceived. When I get in the ring, I take people out, always have and always will. Don't let these people, both in the locker room and in the stands, gas you up and get that greasy banged head all inflated. You're own parents didn't want you, what makes you think any of them do?

56-21-2

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