introduction
- only
on the verge of true greatness can one really take something
from the brink...
Dean Matthews Speaks in Tongues, or: How To Take All of Your Boss's Money
The
heavy thud of a steel door hitting its frame echoed behind
Dean Matthews as he stepped into Lowell's makeshift office.
Of course, despite the fact that it was a
"makeshift" office, Lowell was still reclining in
an oversized chair behind a desk that was unnecessarily
expensive, no doubt made from only the finest of woods, some
rare species of tree scarcely available in the depths of
some jungle somewhere.
The wrestlers were basically limited to bringing only that
which they could carry around with them, yet Lowell was
having huge chunks of heavy lumber shipped and set up in
every city.
Naturally.
As quickly as he'd come in, Dean swung his backpack off his
shoulder and heaved it onto the desk, plopping down on the
chair across from Lowell.
Pleased, Lowell unzipped the backpack and took a quick peek.
"Any trouble?"
Dean was visibly distracted, playing with a piece of tape
that dangled from the edge of the chair, probably holding
all of the pieces of metal together. Only the best for
Lowell's visitors.
"..Yeah, and it's good then?"
Dean laughed for a moment and scratched his shoulder through
his unzipped hoodie, his eyes only momentarily meeting
Lowell's.
"I don't let you down, Low. The purity levels are
fucking.. astounding. Sensational. This shit should have a
hymen."
Well, that was gross. But Lowell went along with it,
smirking and nodding enthusiastically at the prospect.
"Ya done good, kid. Looks like You've come through yet
again! I'm impressed. If this wrestling thing doesn't work
out, I'm still gonna keep you around. You get anything for
yourself?"
A soft chuckle from Dean-o.
"Frequency-fucking, spectacle-spawning, pure black and
white bliss from the vitamin K."
"Haha! NICE! I hear that, man. The GOOD
shit."
Read: "I don't understand the language Matthews speaks,
but it sounds really, really fucking cool."
"Is uh, is that it? Because if not, I'm gonna take my
momentum and roll on out of here, I'd rather not rub out all
the flavor in a meeting with uh.. you."
".. Wait, does that--"
Running a hand through his hair, Dean stood and then
flattened out his black Happy Mondays t-shirt, speaking
through his nail-biting.
"Next time the well runs dry, don't forget to call up
your connecstasy."
Biggest
Mistake?
“Crap
crap crap crap crap.”
Alex Creed was running late and he knew it. He looked at his
watch and pushed the door open, half-running, half-jogged
into the building. There was so much organizing he had to do
over the past week – booking flights, hotel rooms, car
rentals – that sometimes things didn’t go quite as
planned. Like booking a rental for a day later, then having
to run around the airport until he could find an agency with
a car available, for instance.
He briskly walked down the hall, hoping no one would see him
and scold him for his tardiness. The cell phone buzzed in
his pocket and he jumped; to Alex it was as loud as a fire
engine. He scrambled to get it out of his jacket and cursed
himself for not setting the damn thing on vibrate. Everyone
in the arena must’ve heard it, he thought as he flipped
the phone open. “Hello?”
“You still slumming boy?”
Alex stopped in place. He looked at the call display and
read the name programmed for the number calling him –
ASSHOLE. “What do you want old man?”
“I want you to pull your head out of your ass,” grumbled
Kodiak Vic Creed. “Damn it, you’re wasting your time in
ACW.”
“Last time I checked, you don’t really have much say in
what I do with my career.”
“Now Alex, what would your mother say if she heard you
talking like that? Oh that’s right, she’s dead.”
Vic’s twisted smile could almost be heard through the tiny
phone. “Whose fault was that again?”
“Go to Hell.”
“Already have my ticket booked. Now listen you ungrateful
little bastard…”
“Ungrateful? Yeah, you’ve been a great help to me.
I’ve gotten my ass kicked just because I’m your son,
more times than I can count. You’ve ruined my friendships
and what you did to Mom –“
Vic sounded disgusted with his son. “Boo-hoo. I can’t
believe you used to live in my balls!”
Alex hung up the phone and stuffed it back into his pocket.
He took two steps, stopped, and shivered (with accompanying
dry-heave). “That visual has burned itself into my very
soul. He couldn’t stop being an insufferable bastard if he
tried.” He continued walking again, muttering “I
didn’t mean it to happen Mom…”
Geritol Cain
Open to Jimmy Cain sitting in an old rickity chair, a blanket draped over his lap, the Scorpion Fighting title on top of that... he rocks back and forth, smiling into the camera, until...
"IT IS GOOD TO BE THA CHAMPION."
Jimmy threw his hands in the air and shook them about, then pretended to have heart troubles for a second, and sunk further back into his chair. "And so does a virgin's tight, hairless pussy... mmmmm... ye' boi!
"Question!" Jimmy's finger went up. "Who or what is a Dean Matthews? Like, I see him around... doin' that whole "I'm clearly a faggot, but I'll mask it with softcore drug use and a Sonic Youth T-shirt" -- queeeeeer. Whutta homo.
"So you decided that it was time to stop sitting about in your parent's basement listening tp Dashboard Confessional and you wanna come after this, faggot boi? CUM GET SUM~! I SAYZ: CUM GET SUM!" Jimmy stood up, knocking the belt and the blanket to the floor, and beat on his chest.
"...Or don't, and fuck off with your "I want titlez" mission - leave the tranny gypsy and the Jimmy to stab each other's eyes out with the chop sticks we used the night before to poke our LCD dipped joints.
"Calypso may be a scrawny bitch who dresses up like a woman and prances about, grabbing guys' cocks as if they were daises in a field of homosexuality... but 'least he's been around for a while and people know him for the whole-" Jimmy makes a 'jerk off' motion with his hand, "incident... so if I beat him, that's one step closer to the World Title... then I can unhand this piece of garbage that smells like a dead girl's rotten vagina...
"Now get t'fuck outta my dressing room fo' I slap the taste out of your mouth... I've some some wood that needs widdling. WHERE'D I PUT MY WIDDLING KNIFE?
"Ah yes..."
Jimmy leands over the side of the chair and grabs something... when he pulls his hand back it's holding a small knife covered in blood. Jimmy wipes it off on the blanket laying by his feet and begins carving the arm of the chair.
The
B and the C of the A-C-Dub
"Aren't you proud of me,
Dean?! You don't have to worry about Rory Hayes
anymore!"
Click.
Drag.
Smoke.
"What are you, fucking kidding me?"
It was true, Dean Mathews didn't have to
worry about Rory Hayes anymore. Although, despite what
Madison might have convinced herself to believe, it had less
to do with her and more to do with Dean rendering Hayes all
but crippled with two devastating shots to his
already-injured head.
"Last week was a joke, Maddi. It was
a mockery."
Madison responded with a cocky little laugh, "Yeah. I
can't believe Rory actually thought he had a chance against
us."
"Us?" Dean snickered, and went back to paying more
attention to his nicotene than Madison, as usual.
Us.
Yep, she did it. She'd made them a team in her mind.
"So what do you have planned for us now, Dean? I mean,
you have someth--Of course you have something in mind. Is it
a secret? Is it a surprise?"
"Maddi, what are you even talking about?"
With that, Dean lifted his booted foot and pushed her in her
chair as far away from him as his leg could extend.
Naturally, she scooted right back over to him.
She's just the cutest little deranged girl of them all.
"No, Madison. Let me just explain something to you: My
match with Rory Hayes at Holocaust was a landmark event. If
not because it cemented me as a bad motherfucker, for a few
other reasons. Becaust it wasn't even losing a match. It was
a disruption of the integrins between an extracellular
matrix and the axonal cytoskeleton. It was a damaged
cerebral parenchyma.
Blunt head trauma. He's probably been having difficulty
functioning as a normal human fucking being for the past
..Yet you did the impossible and nearly
<u>lost</u> a wrestling match to him. You were
out-thought by someone who probably doesn't remember how to
tie his own shoelaces."
Another drag from that cigarette. Dean laughed. Momentarily,
unexpectedly. However, it wasn't because he was joking about
what he said, it was just the anxious laughter of someone
that had consumed enough opioids in 26 years to nurse Chuck
Manson back to sanity.
There was a long pause before either spoke another word, and
surely enough, it was Dean that broke the silence.
"..Whatever, though. I don't really give a fuck about
Hayes, I've got something else in my mind. I guess I'm just
disappointed.. I thought you and I were going to be a more
balanced team."
There it was, Dean toying with her semi-sick desire to turn
them into the real Bonnie and Clyde of the A-C-Dub.
And Madison's face did drop, but only slightly. It's hard to
break an optimistic [delusional] spirit. But leave it to
Dean Matthews to try. After all, the last thing he needed
was someone bogging him down with her emotions.
"You'll make it up to me, though. You'll have to."
Just as soon as he finished his sentence, Madison crawled
into Dean's lap.
"Yeah? And how will I do that?"
Batted eyelashes. A smirk.
ATTENTION ALL SKIMMERS: READ THIS SEGMENT, IT HAS QUASI-SEXUAL CONTENT
And in response to the eyelashes and the adorable smirk?
You guessed it! She was dumped right out of his lap and onto
the concrete floor, her small body making a faint thud.
"Keep your panties on, Madison, I'm not in the fucking
mood. I have something planned for you next week...
...And I pulled strings like my name's Les Claypool for this
one, so you'd better not let me down."
Scorpion Fighting Title
Match
Jimmy Cain (c) versus Calypso
 
So, the Courage audience had it
once.
You knew there would be a rematch, but who would have
thought it would be at another Courage?
Here we go again.
Kyokutou Yori Ai Wo Komete – Buck-Tick
Yup, this time around, Calypso was the challenger.
Yes, he was booed, but it was more out of obligation than
anything. The audience had grown a sense of respect for both
Calypso and Cain after their battle at C99. But Calypso
apparently decided that he was going to give their boos
justification, with a cocky smirk and smartass comments to
the fans in the first few rows. One never would have assumed
he was the one who'd lost his title, with the way his
head was held high.
Any epileptics, please leave the building.
Pink. Blue. Gold. Green. Purple. Every color in the spectrum
was represented in a flashing, swirling blast of color that
was straight out of kiddie-Anime.
Calypso popped up onto the apron and then atop the
turnbuckle, dropping right into the ring.
New Noise – Refused
Those rainbow colors soon turned to a deep, crimson red and
focused entirely on the entrance ramp.
And there he stood.
The new Scorpion Fighting Champion stood atop the ramp with
the belt slung over his shoulder. This was a new Jimmy Cain.
This was a Jimmy Cain with the support of the audience. A
Jimmy Cain that, although he didnt give that much of a fuck
what the audience thought, actually didn't mind their
cheers. Eyebrow quirked, Cain slowly scanned and surveyed
the schmucks that were chanting his name.
And as he slid under the bottom rope and into the ring, he
showed his semi-appreciation for their cheers with a
shocker, to which they eagerly lended their support.
Smirking at the referee, he dropped the belt into his hand
and held it out toward him.
"I guess I'll let you hold it for a little bit. You'll
be giving it back to me in a few minutes. Faggot."
Ding.
They took their time this match, circling the ring for a bit
before Calypso charged Jimmy, who promptly took him down in
a hard armbar. Calypso soon rolled out of it and spun..
STIFF kick to the side of Jimmy Cain's head.
"FUCK~!"
As Jimmy held the left side of his neck and head in pain,
the gypsy capitalized, unleashing a hard barrage of kicks to
Cain's knees. Finally, he landed a mule kick and sprung
himself off the ropes.
SLAP
Huuuuge dropkick from Calypso, but Cain was able to stay on
his feet (with assistance from the ropes).
CRACK
SMACK
CRACK
Hard, stiff chops and slaps to Jimmy Cain's chest.
"Well, Calypso is certainly going hard to work on Jimmy
Cain, showing that he's determined to get that Scorpion
Title back. He's come out swinging in this one, folks."
Skin pink and inflamed, Jimmy let out a bit of a growl and
placed a swift kick to the gut of Calypso, a manic attempt
to get the gypsy off of him. It worked.. Momentarily. Until
Calypso sprung off the ropes, yet again, and charged Jimmy
Cain.
But Momma Cain ain't raised no foo'.
"Jimmy Cain with a great counter, a backbody drop over
the top rope... But it looks like Calypso got a hold of the
rope and landed on the apron.. Cain turns around.. Calypso
lifts him up and drops him down across the ropes! Jimmy
Cain's back into a vulnerable spot, hanging there.."
APRON DDT!
Cain's head hit the apron with a THUD and he tumbled
down on top of Calypso, who had fallen to the ground below.
Calypso took complete advantage, kicking away at Cain on the
outside.
"Calypso has been in clear control of this match since
the beginning. I'm not sure what Cain plans on doing to
swing the momentum, but he'd better come up with something
quickly."
The gypsy wandered over to the other side of the rind,
It was, naturally, at this opportune time during which the
most drastic turning point of the match occurred.
Cain, who had slid into the ring, was face down on the mat,
was almost starting to push himself up off the canvas, but..
not quite. Meanwhile, Calypso was focused entirely on
rooting around under the ring for the appropriate instrument
of pain for his opponent, oblivious to everything going on
around him.
Poor fella didn't even stand a chance.
Suddenly someone hopped over the barrier from the audience,
with shaggy, messy dark blonde hair and a green striped
sweater, wrapped his arms around Calypso's waist and hoisted
him up in a crippling release German Suplex, Calypso
landing on his head and neck, wedged between the metal
barrier and the unforgiving concrete.
This apparently didn't complete his duties,as the young man
then dove head-first under the bottom rope, sliding into the
ring just as Cain was regaining his footing. Not for long,
though, as the intruder VICIOUSLY snap-DDT'd Cain,
his head bouncing off the canvas with such force that his
body sprang up, actually rotated in the air, and crashed
back-down on the mat.
So, who was this mystery man? Why, Dean Matthews, of course! One would expect a man who had just almost handicapped Jimmy Cain and Calypso to show some excitement, some intensity, some emotion. But then, we wouldn't be talking about Dean Matthews, would we? Of course, Dean doesn't always follow that which is expected of him. I mean, after his "match" at Holocaust, it's kind of ironic for him to use actual wrestling moves during a run-in, but, y'know, whatever.
In the middle of the ring he stood, running a hand through
his tangled and knotty hair, a typical bored yet slightly
amused look ever-present on his face. The crowd was, as
expected, completely confused and thus refraining from
making any significant commotion. Next to Dean stood the
Queen of Chaos, Miss Madison. Leaning against the ropes, she
did her best to get the crowd to make noise. Whether it was
done in a sarcastic, mocking manner or whether she was being
her typical overly-peppy self was anyone's guess.
Dean Matthews, in a rare episode of showmanship and
extrovertedness, signalled for the referee to grab a
microphone for him. And he did, no doubt fearing the
reprecussions of not listening. If Dean could lay out Jimmy
fucking Cain (albeit through blindsiding him),
imagine what he could do to this little prick.
"All right, so..
I'm just sick of the both of you. Calypso, Cain, ACW's ol'
showstoppers, the big stars. Whatever. No one's interested
in either of you, mainly because you two won't just shut the
fuck up. There's usually value in people taking up TV time;
I taped all of Max Danger's promos and segments. They come
in handy when I run out of sleeping pills. But each of you
is completely worthless, equally irritating in your own
individual ways. Calypso.. transvestitism, blah blah,
craziness, blah. Blah blah. Brandon Youngblood intimidation
hardly cements you as a force, that motherfucker cries
watching porn. And this.."
He looked down at Cain for a moment. Madison quickly ran
over and gave him a stiff kick to the head, followed by a
little squeal and a cheerleader-esque bounce.
"..This boquet of sunshine over here thinks he's to be
feared.. I don't know. I can't figure out why. He gets off
to violence, he wanks to snuff films, he squeals in glee
during Faces of Death. Yeah. Each of
Jimmy Cain's chromosomes is laced with the type of
dumbfuckery that can only come from a long evening of
home-made crystal meth and passionate sibling-fucking during
a marathon of Judy Garland movies. But y'know, an extra
chromosome doesn't make you intimidating, it makes you retarded. I mean.. usually, retarded
people are funny. You know? But you.. you're just a
nuisance."
The audience apparently REALLY didn't like that last comment
of his. Violence: cool. Cracks about disabled people: not.
"And to the both of you, your.. sexual deviance and
talking about rape and snuff and sodomy and necrophilia and
fecaphilia or whatever might frighten the 10 year-olds
watching this, but it's not clever, and it's not scary to
anyone past puberty. I grew up in and around Los Angeles for
Christ's sake, that shit was invented where I'm from. So,
for the sanity of everyone here and around the country, do
the decent thing for once and just leave. Just go. You're a
couple of stains on the crotch of ACW, and we'd all be
better off without you.
ACW titles don't mean a goddamn thing anymore. If it's not a self-involved Seymour Sometimes that's too busy styling his hair to defend his title, it's a couple of pseudo-perverts partaking in Scorpion Title circle-jerkery. Fuck this. The lack of passion, the lack of competition, the lack of effort, and the lack of violence.
Fuck the handjobs. Fuck the style. Fuck the ACW fans that let this shit pass. Fuck the idle champions. And fuck the lobotomized generation of ACW."
And with that, Matthews was gone as quickly as he'd entered,
sliding under the bottom rope and up the entrance ramp to an
array of boos from the crowd. The fans didn't care what his
message was, all they saw was him ruining what had the
potential to be an incredible match. Oh and they heard
"Fuck the ACW fans," too, which, y'know, didn't
help.
Madison, with a big smirk across her face, bent over slowly
toward Jimmy. She made a little "Shhh!" with her
fingers and lips to the booing audience, spit on Jimmy Cain
and then blew a kiss to him, hopping over the top rope and
skipping up the ramp to follow Dean.
Winner >
...
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