We find ourselves, as can often happen in the world of professional wrestling interviewing segments, in the company of some wrestlers... and a manager. The tandem of Dirk Dickwood Presents to be more exact, well, to be entirely exact. All your favourites were there, Dirk Dickwood, Cecilworth Farthington, Hank and let us not forget the man who was by far decided by a secret backroom club of EPW fanatics as their favourite mute, Hank. Did I mention that Hank was there? Hank was there.
The three gentleman were fopping about and lounging around the various variety of fantaboulous couches that are present within the Farthington Manner, recently bought by Cecilworth with his pitance of a family allowance for 1.2 million of your American dollars. We join them as Dirk Dickwood is in the midst of telling a joyous jape of jokingtude.
Dickwood: So then I said... RECTUM? DAMN NEAR KILLED HIM!
Farthington: I don't get it. Hank, do you get it?
Hank looks at both men and shrugs his shoulders.
Dickwood: He had a sore rectum.
Farthington: No, I got that part. I didn't see where the joke was.
Dickwood: Well... rectum... sounds a bit like wrecked him. It's a pun.
Cecilworth and Hank look at each other and then back towards Dirk, both men showing emotion upon their face that could best be described as disgustrace.
Dickwood: Well fuck you two too. That story killed at the conference.
Farthington: Hank didn't say anything.
Dickwoood: Hank NEVER says anything.
Farthington: So should we address our camera pals?
Cecilworth gestures towards YOU, THE VIEWER.
Dickwood: Well, let me see, EPW wants us to play a game of climbing the ranks, EPW wants us to prove ourselves once again as being the true leaders within this company, the visionaries of the future, not the relics of the past or the ever fading present. They want ole Dirk and his charges to come grovelling back to the ankles of Big Daddy Dan after we were done out of our RIGHTFUL rematch. EPW wanted to toss aside the proud historic tradition of the former champions pushing the current to their limits, to give them the chance to back up the smack talk of being the best. EPW shat on tradition and now they want us to show up and plaster smiles on our faces as MY MEN face the Botch Kings of Botchconsin. That, as I know many of the kids say on the streets these days is fucking what.
I mean, did we suddenly invent time travel and manage to return to a point where Blitz were both relevant and meaningful competition here in EPW? Have we travelled back in fucking time? Am I shitting Doctor Who? EPW takes and takes and takes from men like us and then expects us to be good soldiers facing two men who are considering geniuses if they can put their fucking tights on the right way around. Jesus shittittyfucking Christ on a cracker, they should know by know that Dirk Dickwood and what he presents won't roll into the latest cesspit that has allowed Dan Ryan to spread his spore unless they get what was taken from them at the last Aggression.
WE ARE THE GOD DAMN KINGS OF THE CAGE AND THIS PLACE WILL BOW DOWN.
Cecilworth tilts his eyes to the back of his head, as if to let these wise words pour down upon him and all around him. He snaps himself back into the conversion with the following conclusion...
Farthington: To be fair, we weren't in the arena.
Dickwood: Shoddy GPS does not excuse a man breaking his work... and a signed contract. I'm a manager and agent, I should know these things.
Farthington: Well why wouldn't the contract be void if we weren't there for the call time? Daddy's lawyers, yah, they poured over the thing and they said we screwed ourselves and not in the way that daddy's lawyer's enjoy at the weekend. I swear certain books are booking too popular in our native land. Still, they said that EPW was well within their rights...
Dickwood: Well within their rights to dredge up the shambling corpses of Blitz to take what WE earned, what we struggled for as everyone look down upon us, doubted us and cast us aside during the King of the Cage. Did EPW earn the right to just throw us aside like a discarded buckets of turds at the side of a highway, everyone curious how it got there but no one willing to move it along.
Farthington: I don't think I've heard the expression before.
Dickwood: EPW proved they weren't worth their word. We could've got there for our match, they could have stalled until the stars of the night finally arrived, god knows the advertisers this place attracts mean that the good natured fans of EPW need a good solid brain clense before they see some true action. Perhaps you could have tossed out Points of View as a kind of filler because, I mean, that's all our little injury lusting pals are really good for in this industry, stalling.
You see Beachy, Murray, you guys, you are grains of sand on the beach. You are insignificant little specks that people wish to wash away the minute the hit a shower. You are fleeting memories, those that people think they will enjoy but soon rapidly come to regret. I mean, to be blunt, you and others with your background are the cancer that will kill this industry dead
Cecilworth Farthing entered this industry because he knew it was a noble sport, men competing against their peers in a display of athletic prowess. The aim, simply to show your superiority to your fellow man by either pinning him for the three or having him wave the white flag of surrender. That is the wrestling industry the Cecilworth Farthington represents, that is the industry that Dirk Dickwood Presents...
Farthington: HAW! I see what you did there.
Dickwood: The 1% in this industry? It doesn't come from men like you, men who would rather break their necks jumping off a ladder then learning the best snap suplex technique that one could master. You'd rather than . My men, MAH BOYS, they wrestle and they wrestle damn well. They didn't learn their art by playing Hardcore Bob, whoever he may be, in the backyards of their childhood squats as a method of escapism from the squalor the consumes them. Hank, a trained bodyguard, knows the precise point to take down and destroy any man who may stand in his path and as for C-money?
Well, let us just say the TRUE 1% can afford slightly better training and advice than your dime store version of this industry. I guess by running down during the tag team match at the last Aggression you feel like you two have finally left some kind of footprint in EPW, perhaps it has bolstered you, perhaps it has given you the belief that amateruish antics has finally been given meaning, that you have purpose and levity.
You've already missed the picture. Wealth got these men the title of Kings of the Cage, wealth got these men the EPW Tag Team Titles, wealth got these men the BEST manager that this industry has offer and wealth is what assures your destruction. At Aggression, you aren't playing sneak attack boys, you aren't going to catch these men off guard. Many people get caught up in the hype, they read their blogs, look at their internets, face their books and they start to believe with the most modest of followings that they themselves have finally become the 1%. At Aggression, Points of View, you get to find out what it's like to stand across from the true 1% and you will realise those broken backs, those opens wounds, those insane stunts you pulled out in your daddy's vegetable patch, they are no substitute for those bread for greatness.
The true 1% see Beachy and Murray for what they are, common rabble that will be consigned to the dustbin of histor