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Marf · (01-01-2021)

The sounds of the night are our opening soundtrack. Another random hotel room, another promo in another city, country, continent whatever. Marf has cracked open the window and is leaning on the edge staring out into the night. The frost bitten wind brushes by his face, earning some soft movements from his unkempt hair and grizzled beard. Who knows what memories he’s replaying in that bizarre mind of his. Sensing a promo can’t be centred around a hairy dude staring out a window on a cold January night, Marf begins to speak.

Marf: Well this is an odd turn of events isn’t it? The warrior I eagerly anticipated strong words from is still nowhere to be seen. And the jester I brushed aside is trying to show me I misjudged him. Perhaps it is time for me to make a start, to open my mind and get to know his heart. And with all that going on, there’s also a particular idiot spider boy chirping in the background about how dumb I’m supposed to be. Perhaps he has a point though, I went to all the trouble of fooling him and his butt buddy Romeo into thinking I wanted to sign with their little sandlot club. Got them invested enough that I walked them right into a perfect trap. But I stupidly let them walk out of their in one piece.

Marf mocks further by slapping his own head like he’s the fool. His mocking smile vanishes quickly though and he stares at the camera now.

Marf: Shawn Wylde, you need to understand something very simple. You are not in a hospital right now only because of me. Your precious Renee is only safe and not violated right now because of me. Don’t ever think for a second the rest of your time here will be comfortable. You proved at High Stakes you couldn’t put me down, don’t make me embarrass you again. And again. And again. You keep coming back and failing but I’m supposed to be the dunce here, right. I have no problem crushing any spider under my boot. I have no prejudice about doing it to the

ones what call themselves spyders, either. Remember that, Shawn!

Okay come on that was totally on purpose!

... remember...

... remember...spiders...

... I remember chasing the referee down the back hallway as the coward scurried away like spiders in a barn. It was my fourth disqualification that month. What month? April maybe May maybe fuckin...libra I don’t know. Months after Mel had mysteriously disappeared. But slightly less time before I had Will Rage framed for it. Still a couple months before they wound find the body though I remember that much...

To be honest, it was only a few days of any type of joy for me. Once reality set in and both Will and Mel weren’t coming back, I began getting bored very quickly. The company had no idea their most tragic loss was all my fault. I could see they were trying to make me into the new golden boy since I was once friends with the golden couple. Unearned championship matches were being thrown at me almost weekly. After that fourth bullshit disqualification finish I knew they still didn’t get it. So I chased that referee all throughout the back. Not only did they not take him screaming for help seriously, they had a camera guy following us thinking it was all part of the story.

I remember when I caught up to him and slammed him into the wall, his nose broke on the impact. His blood spurted from his broken nose all over the wall and his nicely pressed zebra shirt. I held onto his head and just pressed it against the wall, smearing his blood all over until the camera guy finally started pulling me off. A few more back stage folks came like the late hero’s they were and I backed off. My message was sent. I was suspended for a month and fined some amount I could care less about.

It was never about the money. It wasn’t about the championships. It wasn’t about the fame. The only thing that ever mattered was hurting people. Taking the company’s brightest and best and then breaking them. Taking what so many desperate and sad audience members cheer and idolize and smashing them to pieces in front of the watching world. I didn’t come here to claim to be the best or greatest of all time. I’m simply here to destroy those that are. Like the reverse of a shining superstar, I will sit on any roster as a black hole, gobbling up and obliterating everything I touch.

I remember coming back from my suspension and being booked in a match where it was clear they wanted fans cheering for me. Treating me like a returning hero. Treating it like my attack on the referee was a result of missing Will and Mel. As though my two months off were filled with therapy sessions and now I’m healed. Everyone should cheer me on because I got the help I so clearly needed. Were they fucking with me or did they truly just not get it? During that big return match I shattered my opponent’s wrist with the steel steps on live television. The fans didn’t want to cheer that oddly enough.

When I got to the gorilla position in the back there were several agents and the ceo peppering me with questions, insults and threats. One of them got to close and ate a headbutt for his troubles. It was there that I asked the ceo for my release. At that point it was not a problem and the next day I was no longer under contract. I wandered aimlessly for a couple months while they floundered and eventually folded. Just like that, the company I had walked into just over a year earlier was now dead. Whatever talent was left dispersed into smaller feds or went over seas. None would ever make it sadly.

I remember standing in some desolate lot in the middle of nowhere. Searching for answers that weren’t there. But that isn’t how life works now is it? Things don’t just pop up and grab your attention, you have to find it all for yourself. And it was while I was thinking that when a scrap paper blowing through the empty lands hit my foot, grabbing my attention. I scooped it up and uncrumpled the paper. A slow smile spread across my face that could have matched the grinch’s. I couldn’t believe what I read.

It was a flyer for a big event. Even though it claimed to be taking place in a giant circus tent, this was certainly no circus. This was something called Demonic Championship Wrestling. It was a federation and from the sounds of it, one built for the likes of yours truly. There were pictures of evil clowns, half naked blood soaked women and midgets, oh so many midgets. For all the time it had taken to find, my answer was literally right in front of my face. At last, to have purpose once again! I had almost forgotten what it felt like...

... remember...purpose...

... remember...

Marf suddenly slams the window to the room shut as he finally snaps back into our reality. His memories were running shit for now but we’ll be damned if it’s forever and always. Marf runs a hand through his bushy beard and starts to speak again.

Marf: So, ole Griffy really seems to be the one with some kind of sense of purpose. You even for a moment had me wondering if I was totally wrong about you, MacAlister. That maybe it was indeed you whom was meant to help me achieve a bloodied masterpiece of art come Warfare. That you were prepared to meet me out there and just be violent, no regards to a pointless win or loss. Those fleeting seconds, oh yes you had me fooled, albeit briefly, you did it.

Marf turns and yawns into the camera, perhaps a little over exaggerated.

Marf: But then you just couldn’t help yourself, Griff. You just had to do it, didn’t ya? You went right to that low hanging fruit and took it. You used that same, tired, old cliche of rhyming my name with barf. Outstanding work, mvp of the fucking month with that kind of cleverness. You made yourself sound like every boring fool that’s come before you. And apparently the ones that will continue to come after you. Poop humor will only take you so far.

It’s no wonder I have no fucking clue who you are, once your mouth has been open for a bit you sound like the rest of them. Like a bunch of flightless birds sitting around mimicking each other’s cackles. Congratulations Griffin, you can fucking rhyme bud. I’m certain there’s a big shiny championship opportunity just looming in the horizon, all for you. Looks like your return is getting brighter and brighten by the day. Some would say your future, unlike your boring possibly exaggerated past, is looking bright, shining like a star...

Marf smirks before cracking his neck and smiling.

Marf: There’s just one little problem with all that. In four days you’re going to bring that bright, flashy career into the ring and get eaten by a black hole. You tried to talk a big game about destruction and devastation and quite frankly a lot of my favorite things dammit. But your words echoed hollow once you displayed that typical juvenile mindset. Now I’ll have to show you a thing or two about what devastation really feels like. About the true meaning of violence. Now, pick yourself up and try again dipshit. Except this time, use your big boy voice.

Marf cocks a wink into the camera before walking over and plopping down onto the hotel bed. He looks back up and actually let’s put a sigh.

Marf: You know, while we’re on the subject of disappointments, I want to talk about my old pal Barney Green now. I waited patiently only to have been ghosted. My heart is aching Barn, I thought after High Stakes we had something. Maybe it was all just in my head, that happens once in a while. I guess it’s no secret I really wanted a piece of ya. My tongue is swelling up and I’m actually having...feelings? Do you remember those things, Barney? Looks like I got em again, oh no!

Wait a second. He did it again, didn’t we. There goes the eyes...

... remember...

... remember...feelings...

... I remember a rush of so many feelings when I first came upon that enormous Demonic Wrestling Championship circus tent. I entered and immediately knew this was my new home. The place was packed with people screaming for blood and guts. This was definitely not your grand pappy’s wrasslin in this joint. In the ring were four different wrestlers wielding what appeared to be cattle prods. There were half naked ring girls. And then there were the midgets. Everywhere I looked was a midget somewhere. One of the three commentators was a bloody midget in a lucha mask.

If looked closely enough you could see multiple spots and stains on the ring canvas. Some fresh and some very dark and old. The excitement was transferring through my entire body like electricity. I would fit in oh so well here. And I did. For those first few months anyway. Little did I know there were many bad days to come. But of course, with a lot of bad days comes a lot of good stories, which you can use to at least be interesting at parties. I shed other’s blood and a bled myself in what felt like a euphoric three month span. Everyone knew who Marf was pretty quickly.

But then something both incredible to watch but horrible due to the aftermath happened. One of the two managers of the federation died on a wild pay per view extravaganza. I’ll cherish the memory of what the inside of his brains looked like that night. But a week after the so-called tragedy, a new manager was brought in. And she was one of those by the book, no nonsense, no gore type of gals. So a battle between management began, as this Ashley Geins began her quest to change Demonic Championship Wrestling into Dynamic Championship Wrestling.

She wanted to remove the vast majority of gimmick matches. She wanted to change the hardcore title into the pure title, meaning it could only be won in submission matches. She wanted to take the death match title and turn it into the Ironman match title. She wanted no more blood. No more topless women and bottomless men. And quite possibly the saddest of all, she wanted to fire every midget on the active roster. Something even a guy like me found just plain mean.

I remember slowly but surely the roster started to split directly down the middle. The crazier ones taking the demonic side and the more cookie cutter personas jumping onto the dynamic bandwagon. The entire roster was at war now with management acting as generals. I watched so many casualties drop on both sides while collecting useless title after title. The only thing anyone seemed to care about was having control over the DCW as a whole.

It was my sixth month there when a certain stipulation at a big pay per view main event led to Ashley Geins gaining full control of the company. Just like that, bye bye midgets. Bye bye blood and boobs and gimmick matches. They had no choice but to keep me on since I was holding onto three of their precious championships. So I stayed, and I even borderline behaved for a bit. Ashley took notice and even called me into her office one day to compliment me. I stared deeply into those lucious green eyes and I knew everything at that moment. I’ll never forget that’s where I understood. We were now playing the long game...

... remember...long game...

...remember...

Marf sits up on the bed in brief shock as he once again comes flying back to our reality rather than whatever crazy one is in his head today.

Marf: It’s been such a terrible wait just to hear from you, Barney, I wish you’d stop this long game. I’m trying real hard to be understanding because I like ya. I get it, there’s a lot of extra trash because of the holidays and that keeps you a busy man. Living that blue collar life, trying to create that contagious smile. With that passion that you long to succeed in your ways. But as these days pass by, I’m not going to sit here no more, waiting for your sweet words.

The clock is running out, Barney. Speak now or forever hold your breath. But if you choose that latter, well you might as well be the one not showing up at Warfare. I can promise it will be detrimental to your already piss poor health. I’m not here for these casual opening matches to be quick and fun to get the show popping. I’m here to hurt whoever stands in that ring with me. I’m here to set the tone for the night as far as brutality goes. And I’m here to permanently shelf those who are too busy or burnt out to keep up with me.

So if you can hear any of this Barney, through all that wrapping paper, Chinese takeout containers and other trash, I hope it is resonating with you, old pal. Make peace with the time you have left. Because whether you or that attention seeking whore Griffin are prepared for it, we’re going to war come Wednesday. There will be blood and there will be a savage brutal battle between the three of us. You both have absolutely nobody to blame but yourselves for what I do to you at Warfare. See you two chums real soon...

And with that Marf blows a weird kiss to the camera and we fade to black.

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