We open with the word, and for a moment, it just sits there.
Buggery.
Then Neonero enters shot, and repeats it again.
Buggery.
He smiles warmly. He’s dressed smartly, as if he’s on his way to a dinner date. We walk with him, and observe our surroundings; a hallway, with several doors. The décor here is upper class, walls adorned with golden awnings, doorways each sporting busts of cherubs and other assorted nicey-nice images. Neonero stops at one door, pulling out a key, because this is probably the last hotel in the world that doesn’t have those annoying ass card locks. He slots the key in the door, then pulls it out slowly. He repeats this action 1,2,3,4 times, then leaves the key in the lock, not bothering to turn it, instead looking at the camera.
Do you know how Emperors like Nero used to keep order in their senate and armies? Quite a simple way, actually. Let’s paint a scenario. Nero has, say, a powerful General. This general is powerful enough that at his own order, his armies could enter Rome and forcibly make him the Emperor instead of Nero. This man needs keeping in check. Rumours have abound that he is planning this coup. What to do? Throw him in the amphitheatre? Feed him to the lions? These ideas are not possible, for killing him would incite his army. What, then, can be done?
Nero strokes his chin as if he is in deep thought, furrowing his brow for emphasis.
We start at home. This General has a wife. He’s loved her all his life, they are lifelong companions. The kind of sappy story that belongs in fairytales. For them it came true. So, this guy wants to fuck with Caesar. In that case, its time to return the favour. Only courteous, right?
So we enter his home. Flanked by Praetorian guard. He and his wife are enjoying their dinner. He looks up in surprise, and his eyes bulge a little, though he tries to hide it.
They always do.
Neonero shakes his head in disdain towards his imaginary construct.
Can't you see a giant walks among you, seeing through your petty lives?
We nod towards him, and the Praetorian Guard pick him up, restraining him. His face still tries to belie the situation, which makes what happens next all the more intense. Nero walks towards the wife, and proceeds to rape her in the most humiliating way, making sure that her face is always facing her husbands. He is, of course, at this point streaming with tears, and angrily trying to free himself from restraint. But this vigour only arouses Nero more. At a point, he suddenly stops. Short of climax.
It’s the General’s turn.
The Guard hold him down on all fours, and Nero proceeds to, in the words of the Iron Sheik, make him humble. At the end of the ordeal, Nero defecates on the wife for good measure. They then all leave, and the general is left completely ruined, in every sense. His anus bleeding, his wife desecrated and covered in smeared shit. He cant bring himself to hold her. All he can do is sit and stare, tears still streaming down his face. Maybe they will work it out. Maybe he will commit suicide. But one thing is for sure, they will never be the same, and he will never dare to step up to his emperor again.
CM Punk, I can see why you created the name ‘Storm’, because you truly are a wet blanket. You’re what would be referred to here in the East end of London as a ‘melt’. You’re all talk until it comes to stepping up. We had a little encounter a couple of days ago. You talked so much utter shite in your first promo for Gauntlet city that I had to make a comment about it. And your reaction was to bitch about the fact that Neonero used mean words. You didn’t engage with me at all. You turned tail. The old duck and cover tactic. But what you fail to realise is that when you put my name out there, in whatever context it may be, I am going to have something to say about it.
Neonero inhales through his mouth sharply, with his teeth baring.
Let’s start with your idiotic statement that Jeff isn’t European champion. I wonder if you watch the show, or if you just skipped to the end where I carried the belts off? Fact is Jeff IS champion, on paper. That will change in due course, but for now, them’s the facts. A man doesn’t become champion just by stealing belts. Now, in my opinion, I never lost this belt, but that’s not really relevant. Your second point was the best though. You claimed that Paul Heyman wanted Hardy to win, which in turn implies that I was in Heyman’s employ, helping him, the guy who made me lose the title, help a guy who took my title thanks to Heyman, who has also spent the last few weeks chasing the champion you think he champions around with drug tests and is desperate to topple.
Neonero pants as if the last bit of explanation was too much. It was to be fair, and it probably only makes sense if you listen to it a few times.
The idea that all of that could be true, is so laughable that I actually question whether you even watched the show, or you just listened to JP Corino’s bleeding vagina after the fact? I’m really leaning towards that being the case. Holy shit that’s naive, and from a guy who is supposed to be cerebral by nature. Whatever the case, you made yourself look like an inept moron, and for that I congratulate you, and thank you, because you gave me something fun to talk about. But, alas, its not you I am here to talk about. That said, I do recommend you don’t tempt me to really get going on you, because I will make you humble.
Nero suddenly turns the key in the lock, opening the door. The patter of feet can be heard behind it, and a familiar face appears at the door. It’s the receptionist Neonero had slept with...before disappearing for a month. What he referred to as a ‘happy ending before his match’ with Flynn.
Neonero turns back to the camera, as the woman drapes herself over his shoulder.
Paul E, you’re next up, but first I have some nasty business to tend to.
Nero slips into the room, and the door closes, as does the scene, but we are left in contemplation once more. Why did Nero go so easy on Punk? And who is this girl? We can’t help but construct bizarre arcs in our minds that string the woman into scenarios that explain his disappearance. Has she enthralled him and taken him away from what counts with her wiles? Is she a trick? What exactly is going on here?
We fade
Insubordinates Are running the show
Dear Paul E, remember this?
I left some just for you, I believe you found them. I was under your ring without you knowing it. I had maltesers placed around in places I have no damn right being able to access. And what else? Stop and think for a second. I pulled this off on a show you run and produce. If I could do that with such ease, can you imagine what else I am capable of?
Nero’s reclining again, but this time in a quiet coffee shop. In the background we recognise the ‘Costa Coffee’ logo. The place is pretty much empty save for the waiters, or ‘servers’ as we are supposed to call them now, as if that will catch on. Behind Neonero is a high street, though the hour seems late, the gaudy lights still illuminate the street, the shitty McDonalds logo not giving a damn if the sun is up or down. The occasional fellow passes walking a dog, but the street is otherwise devoid of life. Some would argue that a McDonalds full of customers is also devoid of life anyway, but that’s another debate.
The parlour tricks are, for now, inane, Paul. But let’s get one thing clear right now. I do not respect you, I do not need you, I do not accept you as a man of power. You are a joke. You look like a shy cock in cold weather. Your face all shrivelled up like a raisin and your hair looking like foreskin over your bulbous head. I know who you are, I know what you’re about. You’re a hack who got it right once. You spent the last few years riding Brock Lesnar’s coat tails and now you’re here. Doing what exactly? I would say displaying some of the worst management skills imaginable. And some of the best.
Nero pauses.
I say best, because you knew you couldn’t handle a show with me on it. You made sure that was an eventuality that wasn’t going to take form. Well, until now that is.
Shrug.
Which means now, you’d better hope you have the right side of me talking to you. And where the ‘right side of me’ concerns you in this case? Leniency. You need to pray you only suffer my leniency, Paul. Because I will have no problem dropping you on your head just like I did JP Corino. Remember that guy? It’s somewhat ironic that I run a guy off the show the first day I’m back. Do you remember my debut in the XWF? I faced a guy called Seven, who came to the ring wearing a porcelain mask. At the end of the match, lets just say Seven was in need of a plastic surgeon, and hasn’t been seen around here since.
Aha.
I’m the prick that runs the chaff who can’t hang out of here. We damn near had the ‘king of pipe bombs’ running too and all I did was talk about that guy. Hell, did you see how wet that guy’s vagina gets at the thought of taking you on? That’s how grateful he is for lending him your shine. But you know this, right Paul? That’s why you want me on a show like Shove it or Warfare. Places where I am amongst guys with the same ability. Places where it wont be your employees hightailing it out of dodge.
Nero pauses and sips from his latte. What a weird choice of drink. Shouldn’t he be drinking double black Espresso or something?
Paul, it’s clear that you have lost what you used to refer to as ‘edge’. Remember why ECW worked? Edge. Remember how you managed to make that clown CM Punk look better by association? Giving him that edgy validation. Do you know how you’re turning Madness into a kiddies stage show where the soundtrack consists of nothing but you holding a triangle singing ‘my dingaling’? It’s because in your small minded rush to control that which cannot be controlled, fearing the guys that can’t be controlled, or who aren’t ‘corporate’ enough for you, you want to turn the show into some kind of Utopia where the only law is Heyman.
Your first and biggest mistake is this naïve belief you hold that your top performers need ‘managing’ or they’ll run amok. It’s quite the opposite. You need to turn sum bitches like me loose, or we WILL run amok, and you’ll pay the price in the most direct of ways. I don’t need to go on Wikipedia and find out if you have a wife before I make you humble. I’ll bend you over and shove this show so far up your arse it’ll be coming out of your mouth, and you’ll find yourself calling everyone ‘playa’ without ever knowing why.
THAT, Punk, is how you drop a pipe bomb.
Nero flails his fingers around as if he’s trying to emulate one of Punk’s hand gestures but just gives up, fuck it. In his inane-ery he knocks the sugar bowl on the floor, throwing his arms up in the air as if to blame Heyman for it.
You see I spy for a living and I specialise in revenge
On taking the things I know will cause you pain.
A waitress (yeah that’s right up yours servers) comes along and smiles politely, cleaning up the mess. As she bends over Nero gets a good look and holds up seven digits to the camera. For some reason though, the woman is completely oblivious. It might be something to do with the fact she has earphones in and is apparently listening to One Direction loud. Upon this realisation, Nero reduces the score to five. Then as she waddles away, her sway is such that he is, literally, swayed to raise those two fingers again. Her arse gets a seven, its official. Nero turns back to the camera. He grabs his Kindle Fire from below the table, and replays Paul Heyman’s ‘farewell address’ to Neonero just a month or so prior.
Quote: PH: ”I guess, now I owe you fans an explanation, of why I did what I just did…
“See, he brought this on himself. I received notice two days ago, from his ‘people’…
...my people? Who’s that, Norris? I have no ‘people’. Pay attention, folks, because this is where Heyman’s antics unravel themselves.
Quote:“That he preferred to stay home and turn in the title…
Again, quite imaginary. The truth of the matter is, I was told I had no match that week. I was not expecting to be booked. So yes, I was kicking my feet up, though you need not know where. All until I was apparently injected in the neck with some kind of muscle relaxant, to the point I could only move my eyes. Heyman would have you believe that I had myself injected so that I could avoid a match. Aha. Ahahaha...
Quote:“Hell no! Not when I promised a title match! Not when I booked and promoted the hell out of a title match!
“BULLSHIT! Not on my watch!
Yes....you sure promoted the Hell out of that match. You had me incapacitated literally the same day it was announced. So how much room does that leave for false promotion? What had you done to promote it exactly, save for rubbing your arse crack on the ring ropes to leave your ‘mark’?
Quote:“I understand what you fans just witnessed, isn’t exactly what you thought you were getting and from the bottom of my heart I apologize to you!
Is that the line you give your wife every time you attempt sex?
Quote:“I swear on the souls of my parents I apologize… to you!
Or is it this line?
Quote:“Oh and Nero, on behalf of myself, on behalf of the Xtreeeme Wrestling Federation, on behalf of Monday Night Madness, and on behalf of all the fans that showed up tonight to see their champion!
“Neonero…
“FUCK!
“YOU!”
You know what sticks out most to me in that final statement...its not the profanity. It’s not your desire to speak for everyone in the room. It’s not even the fact that you only had the balls to talk to me this way while I was incapacitated.
Nero chuckles.
It’s the fact.
(Pause for Flynn-tensity)
The fact you cling to the phrase ‘extreeeeeme’ with such vigour. A man who literally wet himself in the ring when he saw me. A man who relies on hired hands to paralyse those who antagonise him with muscle relaxant. You’re flying the banner for ‘extreme’ so high.
Let’s be honest, the whole extreme era is done. Its been and gone. The guys who made such a cult impact all those years ago? All washed up, beat up, trying vainly to get paycheques for sad little nostalgia shows. You had a 2-3 year stint and that was it. Other places copied your style. Realised it wasn’t anything special. Now you have shitty CZW running in your old house, with electrified cages, hedge strimmers and who knows what else. Know how much they make?
Nero clicks his fingers.
Zip zero, that’s how much. That shit isn’t over anymore. Sure, they have a constant audience. A sea of likeminded, backwards guys who want to relive the olden days. They make enough money to cover the cost of the shows and that’s it. The guys who are slicing themselves open and setting themselves on fire make no money. But then you know that, don't you?
Nero’s expression changes suddenly, to an imperceptibly mocking one.
You were never in it to make people money, were you? Remember the days you used to do your Jim Cornette impression as a manager? How did that go for ya? You’ve made your living on the coat tails of others. You’re a leech. ECW only stayed afloat because Vince sent you money. And even then you let your workers cheques bounce week on week. Fact is, you are completely inept. And that’s why you are only a GM here. That’s why you don't even try to run anything. Because you know it will go bust, and if it goes bust, people will realise what a sad little slime ball you really are.
But I am a charitable man.
Nero smiles.
I am able to spot these flaws in everyone. Despite what you did to me, I am prepared to make you an offer. But let’s save that offer for a later date, eh? For now, let me just introduce a little friend. I think you know the little fellow well, what do you think?
Nero pulls out a toothbrush.
I believe this is yours. Sorry about the shit on the end. A passing cat hadn’t cleaned its dingle-berries after taking a sloppy shit so I was the good Samaritan and got a homeless man to clean it with your toothbrush. He tried to clean the brush with his piss but as you know, a man can only piss so much. Amazing what people will do for a tenner in this country.
Anyway, King Nothing, this is just another example of how I can be anywhere at any time if I so desire to make it so. No, this is not supernatural. This is just easy access. You are easy to get at, Heyman. By the time you watch this, your toothbrush will have been returned for a number of days. But look closely at the bottom.
Nero places a small smiley face sticker on the base of the toothbrush.
Notice any friendly faces?
Nero slips the toothbrush back under the table, and mockingly holds up two fingers in the ‘peace’ salute.
Enjoy them cat shit tramp piss teeth of yours. Good day!
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