^DOCA HVP's current theme



Long before the XWF's creative geniuses came up with DOCA HVP as a ring name, there was a man whose reputation made him one of the most sought after names in the booming industry of paid assault. He was simply known as Proxy . . . Mr. Proxy, that is. Had he a real name? The answer remained unknown and quite irrelevant. Mr. Proxy was the kind of guy that you loved if you needed a job done that required a little elbow grease, but you hated if you were that job that needed to get done. By any other name, the rose remained as beautiful and its thorns remained as sharp.

proxy | noun \ˈpräk-sē\ : a person who is given the power or authority to do something for someone else, such as cast a vote, in their name : power or authority that is given to allow a person to act for someone else

Need official representation in your absence? Need to make a statement? Need somebody's mistake to be corrected by physical assault therapy? Need that person to know it's from you even though you're not able to be there because you're busy playing tennis? Punch them in the teeth via proxy - Mr. Proxy. It was this way of life that ended up attracting him to the world of pro wrestling. If he could get a big money contract with a major wrestling promotion and then take jobs on the side from the roster members who all want to cause harm to each other, he could really make a killing. It was the perfect plan and was about to be attempted by someone who just might be the perfect man.


“Let's go!“ • His distinct, almost Johnny Cash like voice rang out to his companion. Not a moment to spare after the train brought them into the station thirty minutes late, Mr. Proxy had places to go and people to be.

“I'll tell you one thing,“ said the brazen-faced, 4 foot tall troll to his left, holding his arms out in front of him and carrying a stack of what looked to be five or six black and green duffel bags packed with Mr. Proxy's belongings. “I can't wait to kick my feet up on that XWF executive's desk and let one rip right there,“ said the troll, wobbling like a weeble as the stack of black duffel bags seemed to defy the laws of nature by not spilling out of this small individual's arms.

“You're a revolting troll,“ ϟ “Duh, look at me,“ exclaimed the troll with a wart on his crooked nose the size of a singing California Raisin. Mr. Proxy sneered with his chest puffed out; his hands swayed freely as he gazed downward, taking pride in having allowed his comrade to do all the work. “My point exactly. When is that thing on your nose ever going to grab a microphone and perform for us? You aren't coming with me when I meet with my future employers ever again. Mr. and Mrs. Wallace still want you dead after the stunt you pulled.“ • The look Mr. Proxy gave the troll was one of sheer contempt, but here came the troll with a gleaming smile sans a few front teeth.

“They did say they wanted some cheese with their wine.“

“Shut it!“ • His hand already reached back as if to backhand this troll in the side of the face while he added, “You're lucky they didn't kill you right there.“

“Those doosh bags didn't want to get their pretty furniture bloody.“ • A high pitched, mocking tone applied to those final three words.

Pressing an elevator button as the two wait, “Be glad they didn't or you wouldn't be earning top American dollar for carrying those bags right now, Puta.“ • He knew that one peeved him most.

“Again with the Puta! You're lucky I don't,“ ~ “Don't what? What are you going to do? I'm six and a half feet tall and you're living on my dime. Now get,“ and with the inside of his foot as the elevator ding'd loudly, Mr. Proxy booted his comrade right in the rear to send him stumbling into the elevator. All the bags fell and a very beautiful blonde woman in a stunning blue business suit was screaming like she was being attacked. Mr. Proxy saw her backed up into the corner of the elevator with fear in her eyes as she looked at the ugly 4-footer, so Mr. Proxy took a rolled up newspaper out of his back pocket and started to whomp on his troll looking amigo like he was batting a rabid dog senseless.

¡Smack! ϟ “Get off her!“ ϟ ¡Thwomp! ϟ “Down, freak!“ ϟ ¡Hhhhwhack! ϟ “I said scram,“ and all it took was a few more good thrashings with the paper and the troll went scampering out of the elevator and down the hall on all fours, screeching the entire way in a high pitch.

“¿¿¿Are you alright???“ • His concern was evident while she could barely catch her breath and respond, “Oh thank goodness you were here.“

Mr. Proxy was the type of guy time froze for when the mood was right - it's what allowed him to look our way, lift his shades and wink without the girl even noticing. Now accepting her thankful embrace in the form of a tight hug, “I'm glad I was here too, young lady. There's no telling what that possibly cannibalistic, plausibly rape-tastic troll had planned for you. It's ok now though.“

He continued to hug her and rub her back. Mr. Proxy was the kind of guy with the style of guile that made you just hate a man. • “The name's Richard,“ said the man of many names but in this case he sensed that a strong, common one would do. He extended his hand for a hand shake after she finally stopped hugging her new hero. She accepted the offer and melted as he slowly lifted her hand up to his lips.....and kissed. With fireworks in her eyes, she accepted the new turn her evening had taken. ~ “I'm Camilla.“