Post by Deleted on Feb 2, 2018 20:05:30 GMT -8
Two men, Gordon and Devon, dress in there finest jackets sit side by side behind a table. Headphones on, microphones dangling in front of there faces. It's another weekly podcast from the wrestling mongrels.
GORDON: You know what got me excited? Is the announcement that the GWD dropped the other day; three day’s Devon, three days of wrestling. The Global Heritage Festival! It doesn’t get any better than that Devon. Three days of non-stop wrestling action right here, right in our backyard!
DEVON: You know what has me excited? The return of Jack Owyns to in-ring competition; that is what I’m most excited—
GORDON: You’re mad.
DEVON: Hey now, just because I crave entertainment—
GORDON: Entertainment? You call that entertainment? Cutting three men’s careers short, you call that entertainment? Destroying a family; that is entertainment to you? Or what about, being charged for breaking in and entering or even better, attempted murder in IWA? You find all that entertaining, huh?
Devon say’s nothing.
GORDON: People like Owyns, the vile creature he is, is not what this sport needs. We don’t need a junkie, a drunk. We need people like Tap. WE NEED wrestlers—
DEVON: We have a call.
A light shines indicating an incoming call. Devon and Gordon both stare blankly at each other, before Devon fiddles with some switches.
GORDON: HELLO! You are on live with Gordon and Devon, on the Wrestling Mongrels podcast. WELCOME to the show!
Gordon receives no response. Gordon looks at Devon, Devon just shrugs and then looks at the switches, making sure he correctly linked the incoming caller to their podcast.
GORDAN: Hello?
CALLER: You don’t have a clue what this sport needs.
GORDON: Sorry? Who am I speaking too?
CALLER: Who the fuck ya’ think?
Gordon's face turns pale.
GORDON: Is this. Jack Owyns?
CALLER: Bingo.
Neither Gordon or Devon have a clue what to say.
JACK OWYNS: A vile creature, huh? That’s what you said, yeah? This sport doesn’t need me, but it needs the likes of people like Joe? HA! A senile old dick that can’t grasp the fact of change. Wants to bring back the GOOD early days of wrestling. Where there was honor? Where there was this and fuckin’ that. Want to know something? You know why those days have come and gone because they were boring as fuck. You know how many pieces of shit like him have come and gone, trying to change the sport, return it to its roots. Rid the industry of all that is bad with it. Hundreds. Hundreds have tried, and all have failed. Just. Like. Tapioca. Joe. Will! The industry craves the wicked, craves fuckin’ people like me.
GORDAN: You could be right, but I think you are wrong. Even if Tap can’t make a change, hopefully, come February 18 he can make one change and eliminate you from the equation.
JACK OWYNS: HA! Old balls, eliminate me? That washed up—
GORDON: If you haven’t been paying attention. Which is not surprising at all when it comes to you, but Tap has shown even at 54 years old he still can perform, step in the ring and beat anybody in front of him. He is probably one of the top wrestlers in the GWD. That immortal crown; that three and one record supports this.
JACK OWYNS: OH NO! Old balls can still wrestle! What will I ever fuckin’ do, HA! Records and accomplishments mean shit all. He beat Crane; dude couldn’t even win here. He beat Anders, so what? She won once out of five. Chris Compact won once out of four. He battled fuckin’ losers; look what happened when he went against the undefeated. He lost like all these other LOSERS! Old balls even tied up Storms laces, HA!
GORDON: He was unconscious.
JACK OWYNS: And did shit all to redeem himself. You know what I smell every time I hear those gum’s slapping together, and it isn’t his foul breath, it’s all the fuckin’ bullshit that comes spewing from that vocal box of his. But I’ll give him credit; he got all these morons believing it. He says he’s here to aid a suffering federation. He’s going to stop him and him and him. He’s going to do this and that, AH! Fuckin’ horse shit! He’s done nothing! He’s done nothing to stop the bleeding, but just bitch and moan.
But I’ll give him something to cry about. When I enter that ring. I just don’t come for the win. I come for blood, to make a fuckin’ statement! I will do whatever it takes. No matter what the cost is. I’ve already put three men into retirement, and he will be my forth. He won’t stop me. No one will. The Villain. IS HOME!
Jack hangs up.
GORDON: You know what got me excited? Is the announcement that the GWD dropped the other day; three day’s Devon, three days of wrestling. The Global Heritage Festival! It doesn’t get any better than that Devon. Three days of non-stop wrestling action right here, right in our backyard!
DEVON: You know what has me excited? The return of Jack Owyns to in-ring competition; that is what I’m most excited—
GORDON: You’re mad.
DEVON: Hey now, just because I crave entertainment—
GORDON: Entertainment? You call that entertainment? Cutting three men’s careers short, you call that entertainment? Destroying a family; that is entertainment to you? Or what about, being charged for breaking in and entering or even better, attempted murder in IWA? You find all that entertaining, huh?
Devon say’s nothing.
GORDON: People like Owyns, the vile creature he is, is not what this sport needs. We don’t need a junkie, a drunk. We need people like Tap. WE NEED wrestlers—
DEVON: We have a call.
A light shines indicating an incoming call. Devon and Gordon both stare blankly at each other, before Devon fiddles with some switches.
GORDON: HELLO! You are on live with Gordon and Devon, on the Wrestling Mongrels podcast. WELCOME to the show!
Gordon receives no response. Gordon looks at Devon, Devon just shrugs and then looks at the switches, making sure he correctly linked the incoming caller to their podcast.
GORDAN: Hello?
CALLER: You don’t have a clue what this sport needs.
GORDON: Sorry? Who am I speaking too?
CALLER: Who the fuck ya’ think?
Gordon's face turns pale.
GORDON: Is this. Jack Owyns?
CALLER: Bingo.
Neither Gordon or Devon have a clue what to say.
JACK OWYNS: A vile creature, huh? That’s what you said, yeah? This sport doesn’t need me, but it needs the likes of people like Joe? HA! A senile old dick that can’t grasp the fact of change. Wants to bring back the GOOD early days of wrestling. Where there was honor? Where there was this and fuckin’ that. Want to know something? You know why those days have come and gone because they were boring as fuck. You know how many pieces of shit like him have come and gone, trying to change the sport, return it to its roots. Rid the industry of all that is bad with it. Hundreds. Hundreds have tried, and all have failed. Just. Like. Tapioca. Joe. Will! The industry craves the wicked, craves fuckin’ people like me.
GORDAN: You could be right, but I think you are wrong. Even if Tap can’t make a change, hopefully, come February 18 he can make one change and eliminate you from the equation.
JACK OWYNS: HA! Old balls, eliminate me? That washed up—
GORDON: If you haven’t been paying attention. Which is not surprising at all when it comes to you, but Tap has shown even at 54 years old he still can perform, step in the ring and beat anybody in front of him. He is probably one of the top wrestlers in the GWD. That immortal crown; that three and one record supports this.
JACK OWYNS: OH NO! Old balls can still wrestle! What will I ever fuckin’ do, HA! Records and accomplishments mean shit all. He beat Crane; dude couldn’t even win here. He beat Anders, so what? She won once out of five. Chris Compact won once out of four. He battled fuckin’ losers; look what happened when he went against the undefeated. He lost like all these other LOSERS! Old balls even tied up Storms laces, HA!
GORDON: He was unconscious.
JACK OWYNS: And did shit all to redeem himself. You know what I smell every time I hear those gum’s slapping together, and it isn’t his foul breath, it’s all the fuckin’ bullshit that comes spewing from that vocal box of his. But I’ll give him credit; he got all these morons believing it. He says he’s here to aid a suffering federation. He’s going to stop him and him and him. He’s going to do this and that, AH! Fuckin’ horse shit! He’s done nothing! He’s done nothing to stop the bleeding, but just bitch and moan.
But I’ll give him something to cry about. When I enter that ring. I just don’t come for the win. I come for blood, to make a fuckin’ statement! I will do whatever it takes. No matter what the cost is. I’ve already put three men into retirement, and he will be my forth. He won’t stop me. No one will. The Villain. IS HOME!
Jack hangs up.
END.
