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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Snow Job RP Boards 2023
"So Much For Respectful"
Author Message
Mark Flynn Offline
24/7 Briefcase Holders get their name in GOLD
The 24/7 Shot!



XWF FanBase:
The IWC

(gets varying reactions in the arenas, but will be worshiped like a god and defended until the end by internet fans; literally has thousands of online dorks logging on to complain anytime they lose a match or don't get pushed right)


#1
01-27-2023, 10:24 PM

Total and complete darkness.

A fan whirring to life. A blue light on a wall.

Projecting an image…

Of a tweet.

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-3-33-13-PM.png]

“‘Respectful’, huh? That’s what you have to say?”

“So.”

“Much.”

“For respectful.”


…A low, spitting moan. Like steam escaping… Slowly transforming into a chuckle.

“That’s so… YOU, Peter.”

“A Five-Time World Champion.”

“Across five different companies.”

“Acting like a pampered fucking brat when I dare give him the lightest dusting of trash talk.”

“SO.”

“MUCH.”

“For respectful.”




Click. The light dims. The fan slows. The projector slows excruciatingly…

The darkness returns.

“That’s the difference between the hungry and the fed, Peter.”

“Those on top play ‘Respectability Politics’. They sit atop their ivory castles and watch those they think are BENEATH THEM LANGUISH IN AGONY. TOILING and STRUGGLING AGAINST A WORLD THAT DEEMED THEM LESSER.”

“A GOD THAT CHOSE THEM TO WALLOW IN SHIT… While lucky few live above them.”

“And when the serfs and the lowborn gather around the privileged, striking at the hypocrisy of those with wealth hoarding it. At the sick joke that is the King of the Castle taxing the poor for what gold they have.”

“The ‘King’ clears his throat. And mutters.”

“SO.”

“MUCH.”

“FOR RESPECTFUL.”

“Because you don’t have a fucking leg to stand on going toe-to-toe with me, Vaughnie.”

“You want to police my fucking language?”

“Step into this fucking ring and shut my mouth for me.”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re my partner, my brother, my mother, my ruler, my FUCKING GOD…”

“I climbed the MountainTop™, walking a road LITTERED with hypocrites, liars and SNAKES…”

“I made myself a legend for stripping false idols, adorned in gold… And casting them onto the ground to be fed upon by the rats they used to reign over.”




“So much for respectful, Vaughnie?”



“You want ‘respectful’?”

“How 'bout I write you a fucking eulogy…”


***

“So! Our data shows that 18% of XWF’s fans are of hispanic heritage! But, their purchases only account for TWELVE percent of concession sales!”



Irwin, Flynn's head simp, standing in front of a powerpoint with two side-by-side pie charts, lets this fact breathe.

The simps that surround the executive boardroom nod thoughtfully, like this is a true conundrum.

At the head of the Board Room, two men sit.

One, an older man, sits stone-faced. Staring at the presentation with full focus.

The other has the Universal Title draped over his shoulder. Wearing a suit and shades.

Hate-Staring at his phone as he rapidly types…

…Deletes…

…And types again…

“So!” Irwin continues. “Why the disconnect from proportion of fandom to direct revenue?” Irwin claps his hands. “Because our concessions don't TARGET totheir culture! We need a concession item that celebrates the intersection of Lucha Libre AND the XWF… (and creates a product XWF can sell for $24 a pop).”

“Thus! I pitch to our glorious leader, Mark Flynn…”


[Image: opt-aboutcom-coeus-resources-content-mig...7-06-2.png]

“THE LATINA SUBMISSION MICHELADA! Zesty chili-pepper and lime-juice cocktail with LSM’s face on it!”

A smattering of applause.

…The clapping dies down.



Until the only remaining sound.

Is Flynn’s thumbs firing machinegun fire.

RATTA TAT TAT.



Backspace.

RATTA TA TAT TAT.



The older man beside him casually turns until he stares into the side of Flynn’s head.



Still, he doesn’t look up.



Irwin dry-swallows.

His mouth involuntarily opens.

His first instinct is to beg for Flynn's opinion.

But his second instinct demands he waits until the genius Flynn is ready to speak.



The rest of the room becomes terrified by the silence.

Is Flynn displeased with the pitch?

Should one of them say a better pitch?

Would it draw Flynn's anger to check their idea notebooks for better merch ideas?

The entire room is held hostage by Flynn’s disinterest.



Still, Flynn types.

With the older man staring into the side of his head.

The elder’s eyes narrow, ever-so-slightly.

“I believe…” The senior cuts in quietly. But, in a room so deathly silent, even the quietest interruption is jarring to  all parties. The twenty-four simps seize momentarily, as they all rapidly shift their seats toward the authority.

“That Mister Flynn is… *intrigued* by this pitch. An… Efficient opportunity to monetize a star that… resonates with a demographic that remains… incompletely engaged.”

The two-dozen simps all look around and nod at each other, murmuring thoughts like ‘of course!’ and ‘that’s so true!’ and ‘what impeccable vision!’

“Irwin. Why don’t you guide your fellow…  Contingent Stakeholders™… to expand this very… promising… concept. A brief seven-minute meeting should put more… SUBSTANCE toward this... bold direction.”

Irwin, giddy to receive praise AND take direction, claps his hands and sprints toward the door.

“All right, guys! Board Room #2! We’re putting MEAT on this Bone! Speaking of which, someone trademark ‘EDWARD’s Brontosaurus Ribs! Meat falling off the bone quicker than the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs!”

In seconds, the boardroom is emptied.

Leaving Mark Flynn…

Future-Flynn.

And Flynn’s rapidly typing fingers.



“Your… inattention… is introducing… IN-EFF-I-CIEN-CY… to our designs.” Future-Flynn hisses. His eyes burn like a raging housefire.

“You see this tweet Vaughnie put out?” Flynn mutters, still typing…

…Future-Flynn glowers downwards, irritated at being ignored.

“...In the hopes of… REMOVING this BLOCK, we shall divert to your topic-of-preference.”

Future-Flynn sits beside Flynn.

“What tweet?”

“Vaughn had the gall. The FUCKING AUDACITY… to suggest that *I* disrespected *him*...”



“And? What is the issue? We disrespect many people.”

Flynn shifts his neck upwards at himself, squinting in disbelief.

“Are you fucking stupid? HE is controlling the narrative. HE purports to the FUCKING WORLD that I am disrespectful. And those fucking mental children listen…’”

“Clearly, you’ve taken residency in his mind. Like a defenseless child, Peter strikes back by crying that you’ve violated some false rule of etiquette. If ‘The Mechanic’ had the solid ground on which to strike back, he would, instead of calling lines crossed in a game where nothing is out-of-bonds: The prep before a match.”

“I don’t give a SHIT if Vaughnie can strike back. HE’S the one disrespecting ME. And I’m sick and tired of being the alternative to the ‘truth’ invented by my challengers. It makes me FUCKING ILL… the idea that some fucking RUBE… thinks Vaughn has a rhetorical leg to stand on.”

“So, kick out his actual leg. Defeat him. History is written by the victor.”

Flynn slams his fist against the EXECUTIVE DESK™. “INSUFFICIENT.”

“I plan to DECIMATE Peter Vaughn on the MountainTop™. I will sacrifice Peter Vaughn at the top of the OPTIMAL PATH™, like Abraham did Isaac. But, SUCCESS™ will not spare Vaughnie’s life like the God of Abraham. Because SUCCESS™ never stops consuming…”


“...A wondrous plan. Shall we then return to the… office, to further... evaluate Peter's brand?”

“No.”



“No?”

“I will massacre Peter Vaughn. A fucking spectacle. If you could schedule a public execution by the Aurora Borealis. It will be VISCERAL and AWE-INSPIRING. And I want the world to see it.”

“So it shall be. The SnowJob Pay-Per-View pre-orders are already record-setting. It's the most successful January XWF Event in company history. The XWF Universe is begging for Flynn - vs - Vaughn.”

“I don’t *just* want the tens of millions of XWF die-hards to witness a pretender slew upon the rock.”

Flynn snorts imagining his masterstroke ignored by even one soul.

“I want BILLIONS OF EYES. EVERY FUCKING EYE THERE IS... ON ME. The FUCKING WORLD should have NO CHOICE… but to bear witness to my ULTIMATE ASCENSION.”

…Future-Flynn exhales, impatiently at the grandiose desires of this spoiled child he shares an identity with.

“How… do you propose we… distribute the news of this… Ascension to these... Eyes?”

“How did Theo Pryce promote his movie?”

“The late-night circuit.”

“*I* want that.”



Flynn smashes his fist against the executive desk. It jolts a few inches in the air, before clattering back to the ground.

“I DESERVE THAT. EVERYTHING THEO HAS. I SHOULD HAVE. If Theo did the late-night circuit, I SHOULD GET TO.”

…Future-Flynn briefly presses his fingers into the bridge of his nose… Trying to keep his composure.

“Talk-show hosts and anecdotes… are Old media. Dying. The average 18-to-29 year old can’t watch Jimmy Kimmel without bringing up his history of blackface. And Stephen Colbert hasn’t been funny since he replaced Letterman. These programs are hemorrhaging viewers weekly.”

“And YET. I'VE never made a late-night appearance.”

“Tristan Slater did ten years ago.”

“And Theo Pryce did last month.”

“WELL, I AM THROUGH BEING IGNORED.”

“I AM THE MASTER OF REALITY™. AND I CLAIM MY POWER OVER THE OLD MEDIA GODS AND THE NEW.”




“So. We'll return to work if I get you an appearance on Jimmy Fallon? THAT will end this IMPETUOUS DEMANDING?!?”

…Flynn eyes his future self with suspicion.



“Fine.”

Future-Flynn lifts a phone to his ear and presses a few buttons.

“Therse, connect me to Lorne Michaels. I need his giggling chimp-boy to bend to my will.”

“WAIT. NO.”

Venomously, Future Flynn spits at Flynn.

“WHAT? WHAT IS IT NOW?”

Flynn snorts.

“I don’t *just* want what Theo's sloppy seconds…”

“I.”

“WANT.”

“MOOOOOOOOOORE.”




“...Mark. If you want a late-night appearance, there is nothing above Jimmy Fallon. Jimmy Fallon is the Mountain Top™.”

“THEN PLACE ME ABOVE THE MOUNTAINTOP™. I wanna be on… fucking… DOUBLE FALLON.”

“...Double Fallon?”

“DOUBLE FALLON.”



Future-Flynn scratches his forehead.



He lifts the phone back to his ear.

“Therese, after I get off the phone with Mister Michaels…”

“Connect me to the XWF's cloning lab.”


...

“Yes, they'll be working overtime tonight...”

***

Mark Flynn. Suited.

The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon's logo on the back of his chair…

“Peter, what I want…”

FLAP! A new logo gets slap-plastered over the old...

[Image: Xv-YSkix-A9-U7-DD5y-Zh-GFyu-V-1.png]

“I get.”

“And what I want is for the world to see you for what you truly are.”

“A MEDIOCRE TALENT.”

“A fucking B+ player. Wearing so many belts around his waist to hide his lack of manhood.”


A trio comprising the hair and make-up team surrounds Flynn in his chair. They fawn over his appearance.

"Real easy to get dolled up, huh, Vaughnie?"

The makeup person dabs powder to add color to his cheeks. Suddenly, the deathly pale Flynn suddenly has the tanned face of a Malibu beach dweller.

“Easy to doll up the truth too... Trim the edges. Smooth down the rough bits."

His hairline is straightened and sharpened.

“Problem is, sometimes you paint the truth in so many coats of bullshit, it comes out the other side a FUCKING LIE.”



“I'm no saint, Vaughnie. But I have NEVER fabricated a victory out of nothing.”

“That’s the point of the statistics. The Brand Evaluation™. We strip fantasy from the facts”

“I deliver IRREFUTABLE EVIDENCE of past behavior. Accompanied by MY UNMATCHED DOMINANCE in the present… Leading one to logically conclude that my future performance will be equally UNDEFEATABLE™.”




“But, then. Here comes Peter Vaughn. Fabricating a victory.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-25-56-PM.png]

“How… deliciously misleading.”

Flynn shakes his head as gel is rubbed into his scalp.

“Let’s start with the undisputed facts.”

“FACT: Both you and I competed in the West Coast Rumble.”

“FACT: You won the West Coast Rumble.”




“Now, does that mean *technically* that you… beat me in the West Coast Rumble?”



Flynn’s eye twitches… Little flecks of flesh-colored powder fall off his face like snowflakes.

“Tech-nic-ally.”



“However, anyone with two brain cells might remember the Brawl before.”

“Where Vaughn and Flynn declared TOTAL WAR on the rest of the WGWF roster.”

“Where we promised that we would eliminate the ENTIRE SPECTRUM OF TALENT that the rest of the locker room represented…"

"That spectrum being From 'NONE' to 'LITTLE'…”

“We guaranteed that once it was down to just you… And I… that we would finally settle the argument of who is truly Better.”




“Then, the West Coast Rumble arrived.”

“Let’s hit the beats of Vaughn's CHAMPIONSHIP-CALIBER PERFORMANCE.”

“Vaughn slides in the ring with Raion Kido… And immediately retreats to grab a BRICK and a chair.”


[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-36-50-PM.png]

“He returns to the ring and immediately loses the chair. He’s almost eliminated in SECONDS…”

Flynn grimaces, pinching the bridge of his nose, as it's dabbed with concealer.

“...My partner, ladies and germs.”

“Speaking of Vaughn's incompetence, let's skip ahead a few minutes. I’m being double-teamed by Raion Kido and John Cable..”

“Vaughnie comes to the rescue. And his CLUMSY ass almost knocks me over the ropes and out of the ring.”


[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-38-56-PM.png]

“Is that the part where you beat me, Vaughnie? I’ve watched this match over and over and OVER AGAIN. Could you point me to the timestamp where you prove you’re better than me?”

“Cuz, I gotta tell ya, I CAN’T FUCKING FIND IT.”




“Back to the tape.”

“Peter Vaughn tries to eliminate John Cable, all by himself, like an adult… And can’t fucking do it.”


[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-42-45-PM.png]

“Minutes Later? His ol’ buddy Flynn finds the spot by himself. Aims the kick at Cable and tosses out Tristan FUCKING Slater.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-43-22-PM.png]

“The man who GUARANTEED that NEITHER OF US would win that night.”



“Yeah, no need to thank me, Vaughn.”

“Just doing my job AND YOURS…”




“Now, here we are… The Final Five.”

“Vaughn - vs - Kido. Two World Series of Wrestling FINALISTS.”

“How will Vaughn beat Kido this time?”




“By leaning on Mark Flynn like a fucking walking stick.”

[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-47-31-PM.png]

“FINAL FOUR. Vaughn and Flynn - vs - Goth and Mark Cross.”

“We pair off. Cross goes for a dive. We side-step. Goth eats the dive and is eliminated.”

“Final Three: Peter Vaughn, Mark Cross and Mark Flynn.”




“Maybe this is when Vaughn proves he’s better than me?”

“Think a-fucking-gain.”

“After a little back-and-forth, we trap and corner Mark Cross deeper and deeper into no man’s land… GUARANTEEING he’ll be making an EXPEDIENT EXIT.”

“My back is to the ramp. I’ve stepped onto the apron to SURROUND and ELIMINATE Mark Cross.”

“Vaughn is beside me, facing the same direction. We’re about to two-man suplex Cross over the top rope to the outside.”

“THIS is what we promised on Brawl, Peter. Clearing out the WEAK and the FEEBLE, before the two best in the business settle the score.”




“Now, zoom in…”

“Enhaaaaaaance.”


…The screen closes in on the ramp behind Flynn and Vaughn

“Who rolls down the ramp?”

“Tristan Slater with a steel-folding chair.”

“The same guy who got my World Title Reigns excised from XWF History… Because of HIS steroid usage.”




“I'll repeat that, cuz it's INSANE."

"Slater did steroids SO HARD, that *I* had my World Title reign crossed out…”


[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-53-33-PM.png]



“Now, watch what comes next…”
[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-10-58-20-PM.png]



“I get whacked with a steel chair by Tristan Slater. NOT Peter Vaughn.”

“I get my ankle grabbed by Tristan Slater. NOT Peter Vaughn.”

“I get blindsided and pulled off the apron to the floor by TRISTAN FUCKING SLATER.”

“Vaughn sits there with his FUCKING THUMB UP HIS ASS.”




“But, don’t take my word for it, folks!”

“Or trust your own eyes.”

“Let’s go to the final scoreboard, shall we? And see just how dominant Peter Vaughn was in his World Championship winning performance.”


[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-11-01-36-PM.png]

“...In a 20-man over-the-top rope battle royal. Peter Vaughn earned… ONE solo elimination. At the END of the match.”

“The other one (two if we count Goth) were done with MY FUCKING DIRECTION AND EXPERTISE.”




“Which raises the question… Did Peter Vaughn beat Mark Flynn in the West Coast Rumble?”

“Obviously, no.”

“Peter Vaughn was the DEAD WEIGHT that Mark Flynn carried on his fucking back to the Final Three of the match.”

“And when Flynn was ambushed in the last phase of the match… Vaughn had a CHOICE.”

“Slater hit Flynn with a chair? Vaughn did nothing.”

“Slater starts to pull Flynn off the apron? Vaughn did DICK.”

“Slater eliminates Flynn? Vaughn rolls right back under the rope to keep going.”

“Doesn’t bat a fucking eye that his ‘partner’ just got eliminated ILLEGALLY.”

“Why?”




“Because Vaughn did the math in his head.”

“He knew that if he interfered in Slater’s attack? I'd would stay in the match.”

“He and Flynn would easily eliminate Mark Cross.”

“And that would leave Vaughnie with his biggest obstacle between him and the belt.”

“The man who’d beaten him in every fucking match type imaginable. One-on-one, Tag-Team and Trios.”

“Vaughn made a choice to let Flynn get eliminated.”

“Because Peter Vaughn was AFRAID of sticking to his word.”

“And finishing the fight with Mark Flynn.”

“Because, Peter Vaughn is a… in the immortal words of my REAL partner…”


[Image: Screen-Shot-2023-01-27-at-11-09-35-PM.png]

“Rest in peace, NK.”

Flynn points down the camera's barrel.

“You want to talk 'respect', Vaughnie?”

“How about you respect what actually happened?”

“Did you win the West Coast Rumble?”

“Sure.”

“Did you BEAT me?”

“No. We partnered up. Then, someone else took me out."

"You didn't even have the balls to betray me yourself. You just LET me get ambushed."

"The belt fell in your lap."

“Just like your Uni Title win over Jimbo.”

"Just like your TPW belt you haven't had to defend in almost ten months."

“That WGWF TItle around your waist?”

“Peter Vaughn was once again... In the right place…”

“At the right time.”




“But, the MountainTop™ can't fall in your lap, Vaughnaroo.”

“There’s no shortcuts through the OPTIMAL PATH™.”

“There’s ONE WAY TO SUCCEED. And it’s OVER ME.”

“That’s the beauty of my Optimal Path™ match, Vaughn.”

"It doesn’t *benefit* me, you or anyone.”

“There’s not a shred of luck to it.”

“It is the ultimate test."

"The worthy climb.”

“The unworthy fall.”




“This is your chance at immortality, Vaughn.”

“Not beating that over-the-hill drunk, James Raven.”

“THIS IS YOUR ONE CHANCE TO PROVE ONCE-AND-FOR-ALL THAT YOU HAVE THE NERVE. TO GO TOE-TO-TOE WITH MARK FUCKING FLYNN.”


Clap-clap. The make-up team retreats.

…Flynn stands up, looking like a million bucks.

He approaches a red curtain.

“And when you try?"

"You’ll die.”


Above the curtain, Flynn taps the Double Fallon logo.

"Showtime..."

OOC: 2997 Words (wordcounter.com_word_count)
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