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Lacklan · (09-13-2019)

Something which truly irked me when I finally gave in to Vinnie’s begging and pleading to give his company a much-needed shot in the arm by joining the King of the Ring Tournament was just how much everyone around here needed, truly NEEDED, for their peers to give them their own opinions. I know that some people get confused by that, so allow me a moment to explain:

Fedora-wearing neckbeards, in between chugs of energy drinks and tips of said fedora to “girls” online, wait and wait AND WAIT until someone says something so that they can then respond. This is different than research, mind you. Research shows planning! Intelligence! Respect for their opponent! To know how your opponent performs, to see how they reacted to changing conditions, to see how they dealt with joyous victory and foul-tasting defeat. To know how they approach the business, deal with mind games, how they balance their lives in the ring with what happens without, and how those things might affect their training and preparation. The man in the fedora does not do these things.

Lo! Watch as he waits until the final moments to form his opinion!

Lo! Watch as he has no understanding of who his opponent is!

Lo! Watch as he gets everything wrong!

Lo! Watch as he covers up his complete and utter lack of talent and comprehension with an outcry of “ACTUALLY!” where he leaps from his chair, knocking over his all-too-expensive gaming computer, spilling his sugary caffeine drink on his wireless headset, as he finally forms an opinion in lieu of research, knowledge, and understanding. Or, perhaps just as terrible, he forgoes the scream of “ACTUALLY!” with his finger pointed to the Heavens and instead uses blanket statements and generic promises of pain or victory. Watch as he vomits words into the Abyss which, if the name of his opponent was switched out with any other, they would not change.

I wish I could say that this week was different.

It is not.

You might want to loosen your fedora a bit, Tristan, before you pass out from that vein on your forehead bulging.

How hard was it? How hard was it to NOT play the copy/paste game? How hard was it to NOT slam down your fingers on that keyboard harder than you ever have before and cry out “NUH UH NUH UH ME AND MY FELLOW PAGE BITCH BOIS ALL GETS ALONG AND ARE THE BESTEST TAG TEAM IN TEH WORLD” To NOT be a pussy bitch and axly approach this match with the respect it deserves? It was obviously too hard, of course, since you were unable to obey both spirit and letter of the rules, but you need not worry about any sort of “disqualification,” dear friend.

We are going to beat you clean.

While I apprecciate the fact that you at least part-way understand how talented we are, your inability for comprehension is clear. For instance, I would like, if you would, to point to any instance where I have ever expressed a flying fuck about the XWF Tag Team Championships, and therefore validate your odd little criticism about the intentions of my Beloved and I. The fact that you cannot comprehend that Mama Tournaments upon seeing a tag tournament said “Hey! Number One Partner! Wanna do this totes open tag tourney that Atticus wants outside involvement in?” is just an example of you barely skimming the surface and hoping no one notices how phoned-in your efforts are. For someone crying about how their own workings within the Page Bitch Boi Crew is so well documented (its not, btw, at least not in the way you would wish readers and listeners to believe), my designs on this company are painted in the irrefutable annals of history. I came seeking a tournament. I used that victory to become the face of a reemerging brand. And now I am here.

Do me a favor, Tristan: If you are going to be at least somewhat complimentary of my talents, at least do the smidgen of research and show that you axly understand those talents. At least Famine had the decency to give a once-over of my bio, though he joins you in the inability to interpret the data he rattled off. That is an issue, ya know? “Hey, this chick is pretty good?” Really? How so? Please, regal me with your encyclopedic knowledge of my success, how I beat the people that I beat, and why.

Go ahead.

I’ll wait.

……………….

……………….

That’s the problem with the “legends” I have come across in this company. You have a bajillion things to say about fights from ten years ago but when it comes to NOW, when it comes to THIS YEAR, when it comes to the wrestling business as it is RIGHT FUCKING NOW, all you have to say is “Welp, we USED to” on burner accounts and phones and offer up little to nothing in relevant interpretations or understanding. So, let me help you with that...though I will cheekily make sure that this promotional video goes up too late for you to get yourself off on the copy/paste routine and therefore, like that idiot Mastermind’s complaint of “YOU ONLY BEAT ME (the second time) BECAUSE I COULDN’T WATCH YOUR VIDEO BEFORE I FIGURED OUT WHAT TO SAY ABOUT YOU” excuse, give you something you can complain about in DMs and Discord for years to come:

I have walked into an XWF ring nineteen times in seven months and have had my hand raised about 90% of those times. I have fought and beat XWF legends, up-and-coming rookies, jokes and disgraces, grizzled veterans, and even the nearly-unstoppable Corey. And if all you can say is “dur yer talented” without being able to mention a single fucking time, especially when I personally make sure that each and every person in this company has easy access to everything I do? Then your words are nothing but a pathetic attempt to influence the masses in a way to show that you are being respectful and not taking an opponent lightly, all the while transparently showing them that you are indeed showing disrespect and looking past them. And when people do that? Especially legends? They get beat.

I have single-handled confuzzled every single person in this company because I refuse to play the bullshit nonsense game that all of you do. You won’t find me calling you a cunt or murdering someone live on camera or crying about what is or is not allowed to be talked about in a promotional video or sharing scat porn. You won’t find me throwing up random insults like a kid in the 3rd grade who just learned some new swears and wants to impress his friends. And you sure as shit won’t find me boasting about beating up a dude at XX who didn’t even bother to submit a promotional video for the event like it is something to invite awe.

Shift gears? Dude, you gotta shift PARADIGMS if you want to win this match. Because as awesome as I am? As legitimate of a presence as I have created in the front lines and in the main event….or those “sidelines,” as you like to call them, wherein we bust out that meme of Inigo saying that he doesn’t think that word means what you think it means...and am forcing this company to deal with the face that its almost 2020 and not 1999?

Kenzi is better than me.

Perhaps one of you two idiots will give her the time of day this time. Neither Fuzz nor Noah did at first, either.

Go ask them how well that worked out.

Sarah Grey-Lacklan flashes her Billion $$$ Smile one final time to her gaggle of fans as she ends her podcast. She places her phone back into her bag, taking a moment to lightly stroke the top of Lil’ Has’ head, followed by a similarly light touch to Lael, the baby giant spider ticking a thank you up to her.

“So odd that you caught Kenzi’s SoCal accent already, Lael.”

Large behind her glasses, she narrows her odd red eyes into a suspicious glare.

“Almost as if you weren’t-”

“AHEM!”

Sarah sits up with a start as the sound of laughter fills in around her. She was sitting in the front row of a small auditorium, surrounded by hundreds of men and women before the stage on which Kenzi stands. Her caramel-skinned wife shoots her a stern look of rapprochement and Sarah gives her a weak smile. Kenzi shakes her head, including doing her best “Sar impression” of a massive eyeroll, and faces the rest of the audience.

“But anyway...fish, amIright? They got weird names. Like, carp? Carp? Yeah, you know what I’m talking about.”

Sarah controls herself to not let out the largest sigh of her life. Kenzi insisted on performing a stand up routine at the benefit, and while she appreciated her wife’s willingness to try new things with the courage of a lion, she was bombing. Oh, she had a zinger or two in there, but she kept going back to observational humor about fish. And somehow didn’t notice the crickets in the audience! She-

“GLUG GLUG GLUG!”

Sarah jumps slightly as she hears the sound of someone downing WAY too much alcohol. She reaches back into her purse and pulls out her phone. The personalized text sound was from her former personal assistant, Ashley Allen.

Double Ds for the win!
Halp! Got something only YOU can handle, boss!

Sarah scrunches her nose in thought. Ashley was in charge of the event...much to Kenzi’s annoyance...and she had all the authority in the world. Still…

“Bass. Bass. So weird!”

Sarah breathes in and out through her nose in long and slow movements. She HAS to get out of here. But she needs a distraction. She needs-

“OMG! Is that Salsa, the Wrestling Bear?!”

Sarah points behind Kenzi and the bombing comedian, as that proverbial moth to the flame, turns in the direction of the elusive Ursidae. Sarah slips out of her chair and past the front seats as fast as her stiletto heels allow her, avoiding the curious gazes of her fellow unamused captives, and away from the stage. She lets out a sigh of relief as she successfully gets out of range and moves even faster when she hears Kenzi recover from the distraction and continue with her list of “funny” fish names.

“Bosslady!”

Sarah turns her head toward the sound of the voice and sees Ashley, her old friend and confidant, frantically waving her down. The buxom brunette, face pale from months away from the California sun under her employ and back to college in Maine, has a panic around her eyes that was undeniable. She has reasons for being stressed, of course, as all of the events of the benefit for the Winslets, from karaoke to pin the tail on (feral) cats to Kenzi’s stand-up, have been arranged by the Business Administration major, but this was different.

“Ax? What’s up?”

Ashley grabs Sarah by the crook of the elbow and pulls her away from the crowded activities. Many people have come out in support of the Grey-Lacklan endeavors to replace the home of their neighbors, and relative privacy seems to be the need of the moment. The two move past the gift wrapping battle (won by Bobbi, of course) and beyond the Amoora Shake Chugging Contest (the traces of chocolate on Ashley’s mouth giving proof to her own involvement), until the two make their way into a small coat room. Sarah stops as they enter, a man and woman, both around her age, sit on a couch. The man stands up, his hands fiddling with his pockets in nervousness, and he gives her a nod.

“Yer-yer Sara’?”

Sarah gives a small nod of her head. The man seems relieved, but the nervousness does not lessen. Sarah notices that its not just nervousness, either. It is mixed with...apprehension? Anxiety? Fear? He continues with an accent she knows well, one that places him a resident of New England.

“Mah...mah name...iz Tanner.”

He points a shaking hand to the woman on the bed.

“And this iz Wendy. We...um...we need yer help.”

Sarah looks behind her, eyes moving back and forth at the crowd, and then quietly shuts the door. She stands tall before them, her hands before her, her chin slightly raised in the air, the picture of the matriarch.

“If I can.”

The man opens and closes his mouth several times, wavering sounds coming forth, but little sense.

“Tha ugly man...our friends...tha manor...dark room...oh, tha basement! He...we…”

Sarah shoots a sideways glance at Ashley, who gives her a small shrug of her shoulders. Sarah looks back at Tanner and flashes him her Billion $$$ Smile, ruby lips parting to show a set of perfect and painstakingly maintained teeth.

“Slowly.”

She reaches forward and uses both of her hands to wrap around one of his.

“Relax. As the Hatter tells us, start at the beginning. And when you get to the end...stop!”

The man takes a deep breath and his hands settle.

“Mah friends and I were ata party. Not far from ‘ere. This...mansion? Manor? Like outta somethin’ from a nightmare...”

Sarah gives him a nod. She grew up in something like that. Still visited during the holidays.

“...drinks. Weed. Just ‘avin’ a good time, yeah? Then a coupl’a our friends…”

He trails off and Wendy speaks up.

“Denise. An’ Will! We went’a school togethah.”

The man shakes his head.

“They went downstairs. Just checkin’ tha place out.”

He gives a little chuckle without much mirth in it.

“Knowin’ Will, he was lookin’ fer a place to get some head, ya know?”

Tiny dots of scarlet shine on Sarah’s pale cheeks, right above her dimples. She knew all about what their friend might have been leading a cute girl towards. While somewhat sated, she and Kenzi were known for sneaking away to find private spaces in public places for amour caché.

“But then….tha screamin’”

The girl on the bed begins to weep. Great rivers down her cheeks.

“We didn’t know what ta do. We ran to tha door goin’ down, down to tha basement? And den t’is man...t’is monstah...he burst through tha door! He ‘ad bright yella ‘hair...an’ wore stripes...an’ ‘ad all dees balloons and shit. An’ he-”

“Wait...wait…”

Sarah reaches into her purse and pulls out her iPhone again and types rapidly, her fingers having finally become accustomed to the device.

“You mean THIS guy?”

The girl on the bed blanches and the man whimpers.

“Ya! Him! Oh, it was terrible, Ma’am! He ‘ad candy! An’ crayons! An’ all SORTS a’ hugs for everyone!”

“HELP US!”

The girl’s screams filled the room.

“PLEASE! YOU MUS’ SAVE US FROM ‘IS BALLOON ANIMALS!”

Sarah closes her eyes and breathes out slowly.

“...sweet Baby Jesus’ pock-free brown booty…”

She opens her eyes and does her best to fill them with a confident shine.

“You two have NOTHING to worry about! Ol’ Famine-”

“Please! Ya have no idea! He spent an ‘our tellin’ us about tha’ time Rizzoko beat ‘im an’ Viktor Sombra for tha WGWF Tag Team Titles at All Hallows Eve in 2011! Jeanie passed out! Bob broke down inta tears! I think Ron DIED!”

“And we still don’ know what happened ta Will an’ Denise! We…”

The two fall into unstoppable tears but Sarah knows what to do. She walks forward and takes the much taller man by the arm and leads him to the bed. She pulls him down as she sits down next to the girl and sits between them, holding one of their hands in hers.

“Fear not, my friends. For this man...this boogie man...is nothing to shed tears over. Yes! He is large and massive. Yes! His pedigree of assaults, and probably rape and murder and other completely stupid, idiotic, and highly illegal dumbfuckery, is as deep as my own thoroughbred blood. But he’s probs too busy jerking off over that tribute video EmoTree1986 made for him back in ‘08 to axly do anything dangerous to you!”

The two of them look at her with wet eyes full of questions. Sarah nods her head slowly.

“Yes, that’s a thing. Made three years after his debut! Just another example of that ‘ERMAHGERD LEGEND’ tag being thrown around. Three years and BLAMO! WGWF Legend!”

She takes her hand from the man’s and strokes her chin in thought for a moment.

“For all of the talk of ‘truth,’ one has to wonder what kind of shitty company has ‘legends’ after just three years of work.”

She shrugs her shoulders and then takes them both in her gaze.

“Worry not, friends. It is the year of our Lord 2019, and that means that dumbshit like rape, murder, scat, arson, kidnapping, forced sodomy, super powers, being undead, hitting on thirteen-year-olds, and even the Crucifixion of Jews is NOT okay and NOT accepted. Cutting promotional videos where you can switch out the name of an opponent and not have the content change is NOT accepted. Being JUST good enough to cut some big ‘return’ promos before you fall away into the Abyss like every OTHER legend in the business is NOT accepted. And some clown fumbling over his words so bad that even Peter Gilmore has to take him aside and be all ‘damn, bro, we gotta get you some promo lessons’ is naught but failure.”

She gives their hands a squeeze.

“C’mon! There is still time to play ‘Tryhard Bingo’ in the main hall. XX promos are playing and there’s a pool to see if you can get a blackout in under five minutes!”

The couple dry their tears, give thankful smiles, and run towards the fun!

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