Post by Phil Atken on Jun 15, 2012 18:26:01 GMT -4
We find ourselves in the company of three of the finest men this side of the Atlantic, or that side of the Atlantic. Really they are some of the finest men in the entire worldwide world. These gentlemen are of course Defender of Justice, Head of Security and sadly full time mute, the illustrious Hank adorned in his best black “HANK” t-shirt and a dapper pair of jeans. Next to hand we have the sexual visage of the self-proclaimed, yet somehow award winning Superagent, Mr. Dirk Dickwood, who himself in adorned in the best suit he stole off the back of a truck some years ago and refuses to replace. The picture is complete with no less than the man who believes himself to be the True Voice of APW and a Test for the Best qualifier in his own right, Philip Martin Atken, wardrobe provided by Primark.
They are of course in the best hotel suite two hundred dollars could buy, guzzling down sparkling wine and eating some grapes they found in a local supermarket's bin. Dirk Dickwood insists that bin grapes are by far the tastiest.
Atken: Gentlemen, now that our esteemed camera stalkers are here, I propose a toast. TO THE TEAM!
The three men clink their glasses together as Phil and Dirk yell out for “The Team”. Hank, being a mute, is mute. Funny that.
Atken: I don't know what I would've done without you fine gentlemen at the last Asylum.
Dickwood: Lost?
Atken: Don't be daft, I had Cainegrim right where I wanted him. I was lulling him into a false sense of security, you and Hank merely sped up the process.
Hank rolls his eyes while tapping his foot in a disapproving manner, Dirk throws his head back and sighs.
Dickwood: Would it kill you to admit we were the reason for your success. If it wasn't for me and Hank you would be dead in the water right about now.
Atken: Hey, you were a help, ain't that good enough for you? We got through the night much quicker which solved a lot of issues, especially what with me leaving the yoghurt out backstage. Hank even got to see his misses backstage and the note he passed me told me we had just saved his marriage. Not entirely sure the hows and whys of that one. Don't think I want to know either.
Dickwood: Why did security let a 6' 3” beheamoth of a woman into the show anyway? She looked like she was about to murderdeathkill me when I accidentally bumped into her. Does she always wear that viking helmet?
Hank enthusiastically nods his head.
Atken: You think security is going to stop a mad woman with a viking helmet from bum rushing her hubby?
Hank cheekily shrugs his shoulders, the old scamp.
Atken: He's a ragamuffin that Hank!
There's a sudden knock at the door, stopping the conversation in its track. Phil raises a curious eyebrow and swings the door wide open. Standing there with a slip in his hands is a gentlemen dressed in classical bellhop style, hat and all.
Bellhop: TELEGRAM FOR MR. PHILIP MARTIN ATKEN.
Atken: Jesus, there's no need to yell. You're going to awaken the shehemoth.
Bellhop: SORRY, SOMEONE ACCIDENTALLY EXPLODED A FIREWORK IN THE ELEVATOR.
Atken: I have enough hijinks in my life. I have no need for a lowly bellhops hijinks.
Phil snatches the telegram out of the bellhop's hands and slams the door square in his face.
Dickwood: Who still sends a telegram in this day and age?
Phil looks at it.
Atken: APW it would seem. I'm starting to think Reggie has too much money.
Dickwood: Sooooooo... what does it say?
Phil holds up his hush finger and he snaps open the telegram. Instead of reading aloud, we instead witnesses Phil's eyes dart backwards and forwards as he lets the message sink in.
Dickwood: So?
Atken: Well isn't that interesting.
Phil shares the telegram with Hank, who looks rather interested in the message too. Dirk jumps up, trying to read the message over the shoulder of the much taller Hank. He is not very successful at it.
Dickwood: JUST TELL ME ALREADY!
Phil balls up the telegram, hurling it over his shoulder.
Atken: We've got Knuckles first round.
Dickwood: YOU'VE got Knuckles next round.
Dirk casually nods towards the cameras, as if to remind Phil of their presence.
Atken: Oh yes, quite. Don't know where my head is at.
Phil wanders off out of camera shot and as the camera begins to pan towards Phil's new position, we see he is in fact sitting in front of a smaller version of the Atken's Asylum set. No guest chair is in position, rather Phil is looking straight ahead at the camera. We can hear the voice of Dirk Dickwood yelling in the background.
Dickwood: It's impeccable timing that this camera crew showed up just before that olde tyme telegraph. Even more amazing we put up that set in our hotel suite tonight.
Atken: HUSH UP DIRK!
Phil begins to shuffle around in his chair, getting himself comfortable.
Atken: Ah, there we go. So, folks, as you've just heard from the wonderful method of communication that is the telegraph that I, Phil Atken, will be taking on Jonathan The Knux Knuckles on this weeks Asylum in what many people are already calling a “Round 1 Test for the Best Match”. And how right they would be.
Phil leans forward towards the camera.
Atken: You know, me and Dirk, we enjoy a good laugh. Hank himself is a laugh riot. We watch many a comedic programming and we do love a good titter. Some people would say the Knuxy is a joke in this business. Hell, it'd be tough to argue. He earned his last title shot by tripping and falling in some donkey shite. Not exactly a hard earned victory is it? Now, I could go on to point that he then went on to completely fail in that title shot, proving that he really wasn't a worthy contender, I could do that...
But do I really need to?
Phil produces a little sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, which he is often fond of doing.
Atken: In my hand, I have the APW record of “The Survivor” and I gotta to admit, there's a lot of impressive matches, title matches, Survive and Conquer matches... there's a lot of strength to the man's record. Success in those matches... that's a different matter entirely. You see, old Knuckles, he's had a few ole shots at grasping APW's brass ring. Hell, he's been on the tippy top of the ladder a surprising number of times. The problem with dear old Knuxy, the second he gets within arms reach of finally reaching that brass ring, he suddenly becomes distracted and paws away at it like some kind of ADD-cat. That cat doesn't want anyone else to play on its ladder though. It's clinging to the top for dear life.
Johnny, it's time to climb down. It's time to let some new talent on the ladder. It's time to realise that you failed. That you need to move on. Go grab your can of Donkey Punch and go shill it as much as you can because that my friend, is your retirement plan.
Phil shoves the piece back into his fantastically trendy pinstripe coat.
Atken: Now of course, this isn't the first time I've made this point to the Knuckster. In fact, a couple of months ago, he was my very first guest on my own talk show. He was on this very set when it debuted on Asylum television. I made the point to him then that he'd had his shot at Kash, I told him it was time to move on. How did he respond? He tried to man-handle me, he tried to beat down a poor, injured wrestling journalist. What kind of man preys on the infirm? A man who cannot beat anyone else! That's who. Hell, I should almost thank Knuckles for that. He was the driving force into me hunting for a chief of security for Atken Enterprises. Johnny Knuckles drove me into Hank's arms and I've never looked back since. That man over there.
Phil thumbs over to an off-set Hank.
Atken: He'd take a bullet for me.
We suddenly hear an off-set groan. Historians will dispute whether it was Hank or Dirk was just hungry.
Atken: Knuckles had and indeed still has an unhealthy obsession with Jason Kash. To me, it almost seems like he enjoys being the Champ's whipping boy, like it brings his some kind of sexual release. Hell, if I was a more lower brow of a gentleman, I could very well imply that Knuckles was of the opposite persuation to I. I could say his interested in Kash goes further than competition but I'm too classy to do such a thing.
You would however, think it's fair enough to point out to the man that it may be time to step down and move on with his life. It's certainly not cause to threaten a charming host.
It occurred to me as I stood there, helpless, that I needed to take note of this moment. I wanted to make sure when I got fighting fit that I made those who dared to wish to attack me remember that Phil Atken is a god damn contender, not some toy to be pushed around and thrown aside in a box when they're done with it. Last week was just the first step. Last week I derailed a god damn war in progress and all Calvin had done was interrupt my show.
What do you think I have planned for a man who tried to take me down? Lollypops and good times? Rainbows and unicorns? Pixie dust and centaur farts? Goblin dribble and...
We hear Dirk's booming voice from the opposite side of the room.
Dickwood: We get the point.
Atken: Last Asylum was Phase 1, I said that I wasn't going to sit here and be a stepping stone to someone else. I wasn't going to be a guy who was about to roll over and let others go on to glory at his expense. I had a fire lit under me, I wanted in this tournament, I wanted to be the one in the limelight. I realised that I wanted to be on the first rung of the ladder. When I defeated Calvin Caine, it hit me that I was already on the first rung. Hell, if I was on the first, why couldn't I made it to the second? The third? Why couldn't I climb the ladder? If a man like Johnny Knuckles could do it, surely, surely so could I, I told myself.
For years, I've been trapped in the forest. I've been trying to find my way out but I kept finding myself making all the wrong turns. I even branded myself as a loser as if it was a badge of pride. I accepted the nickname “The Unfortunate”, as if to wear my failure on my sleeve. I thought by embracing it, I would overcome it. Maybe now I finally will.
I'm climbing that ladder Knuckles. You've had your turn, I want mine and when I get to the top of that latter, I'll bloody well jump for the ring and trust me, if I fall after that jump, you won't find me wallowing in donkey crap, desperate to cling on to my relevance.
They are of course in the best hotel suite two hundred dollars could buy, guzzling down sparkling wine and eating some grapes they found in a local supermarket's bin. Dirk Dickwood insists that bin grapes are by far the tastiest.
Atken: Gentlemen, now that our esteemed camera stalkers are here, I propose a toast. TO THE TEAM!
The three men clink their glasses together as Phil and Dirk yell out for “The Team”. Hank, being a mute, is mute. Funny that.
Atken: I don't know what I would've done without you fine gentlemen at the last Asylum.
Dickwood: Lost?
Atken: Don't be daft, I had Cainegrim right where I wanted him. I was lulling him into a false sense of security, you and Hank merely sped up the process.
Hank rolls his eyes while tapping his foot in a disapproving manner, Dirk throws his head back and sighs.
Dickwood: Would it kill you to admit we were the reason for your success. If it wasn't for me and Hank you would be dead in the water right about now.
Atken: Hey, you were a help, ain't that good enough for you? We got through the night much quicker which solved a lot of issues, especially what with me leaving the yoghurt out backstage. Hank even got to see his misses backstage and the note he passed me told me we had just saved his marriage. Not entirely sure the hows and whys of that one. Don't think I want to know either.
Dickwood: Why did security let a 6' 3” beheamoth of a woman into the show anyway? She looked like she was about to murderdeathkill me when I accidentally bumped into her. Does she always wear that viking helmet?
Hank enthusiastically nods his head.
Atken: You think security is going to stop a mad woman with a viking helmet from bum rushing her hubby?
Hank cheekily shrugs his shoulders, the old scamp.
Atken: He's a ragamuffin that Hank!
There's a sudden knock at the door, stopping the conversation in its track. Phil raises a curious eyebrow and swings the door wide open. Standing there with a slip in his hands is a gentlemen dressed in classical bellhop style, hat and all.
Bellhop: TELEGRAM FOR MR. PHILIP MARTIN ATKEN.
Atken: Jesus, there's no need to yell. You're going to awaken the shehemoth.
Bellhop: SORRY, SOMEONE ACCIDENTALLY EXPLODED A FIREWORK IN THE ELEVATOR.
Atken: I have enough hijinks in my life. I have no need for a lowly bellhops hijinks.
Phil snatches the telegram out of the bellhop's hands and slams the door square in his face.
Dickwood: Who still sends a telegram in this day and age?
Phil looks at it.
Atken: APW it would seem. I'm starting to think Reggie has too much money.
Dickwood: Sooooooo... what does it say?
Phil holds up his hush finger and he snaps open the telegram. Instead of reading aloud, we instead witnesses Phil's eyes dart backwards and forwards as he lets the message sink in.
Dickwood: So?
Atken: Well isn't that interesting.
Phil shares the telegram with Hank, who looks rather interested in the message too. Dirk jumps up, trying to read the message over the shoulder of the much taller Hank. He is not very successful at it.
Dickwood: JUST TELL ME ALREADY!
Phil balls up the telegram, hurling it over his shoulder.
Atken: We've got Knuckles first round.
Dickwood: YOU'VE got Knuckles next round.
Dirk casually nods towards the cameras, as if to remind Phil of their presence.
Atken: Oh yes, quite. Don't know where my head is at.
Phil wanders off out of camera shot and as the camera begins to pan towards Phil's new position, we see he is in fact sitting in front of a smaller version of the Atken's Asylum set. No guest chair is in position, rather Phil is looking straight ahead at the camera. We can hear the voice of Dirk Dickwood yelling in the background.
Dickwood: It's impeccable timing that this camera crew showed up just before that olde tyme telegraph. Even more amazing we put up that set in our hotel suite tonight.
Atken: HUSH UP DIRK!
Phil begins to shuffle around in his chair, getting himself comfortable.
Atken: Ah, there we go. So, folks, as you've just heard from the wonderful method of communication that is the telegraph that I, Phil Atken, will be taking on Jonathan The Knux Knuckles on this weeks Asylum in what many people are already calling a “Round 1 Test for the Best Match”. And how right they would be.
Phil leans forward towards the camera.
Atken: You know, me and Dirk, we enjoy a good laugh. Hank himself is a laugh riot. We watch many a comedic programming and we do love a good titter. Some people would say the Knuxy is a joke in this business. Hell, it'd be tough to argue. He earned his last title shot by tripping and falling in some donkey shite. Not exactly a hard earned victory is it? Now, I could go on to point that he then went on to completely fail in that title shot, proving that he really wasn't a worthy contender, I could do that...
But do I really need to?
Phil produces a little sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, which he is often fond of doing.
Atken: In my hand, I have the APW record of “The Survivor” and I gotta to admit, there's a lot of impressive matches, title matches, Survive and Conquer matches... there's a lot of strength to the man's record. Success in those matches... that's a different matter entirely. You see, old Knuckles, he's had a few ole shots at grasping APW's brass ring. Hell, he's been on the tippy top of the ladder a surprising number of times. The problem with dear old Knuxy, the second he gets within arms reach of finally reaching that brass ring, he suddenly becomes distracted and paws away at it like some kind of ADD-cat. That cat doesn't want anyone else to play on its ladder though. It's clinging to the top for dear life.
Johnny, it's time to climb down. It's time to let some new talent on the ladder. It's time to realise that you failed. That you need to move on. Go grab your can of Donkey Punch and go shill it as much as you can because that my friend, is your retirement plan.
Phil shoves the piece back into his fantastically trendy pinstripe coat.
Atken: Now of course, this isn't the first time I've made this point to the Knuckster. In fact, a couple of months ago, he was my very first guest on my own talk show. He was on this very set when it debuted on Asylum television. I made the point to him then that he'd had his shot at Kash, I told him it was time to move on. How did he respond? He tried to man-handle me, he tried to beat down a poor, injured wrestling journalist. What kind of man preys on the infirm? A man who cannot beat anyone else! That's who. Hell, I should almost thank Knuckles for that. He was the driving force into me hunting for a chief of security for Atken Enterprises. Johnny Knuckles drove me into Hank's arms and I've never looked back since. That man over there.
Phil thumbs over to an off-set Hank.
Atken: He'd take a bullet for me.
We suddenly hear an off-set groan. Historians will dispute whether it was Hank or Dirk was just hungry.
Atken: Knuckles had and indeed still has an unhealthy obsession with Jason Kash. To me, it almost seems like he enjoys being the Champ's whipping boy, like it brings his some kind of sexual release. Hell, if I was a more lower brow of a gentleman, I could very well imply that Knuckles was of the opposite persuation to I. I could say his interested in Kash goes further than competition but I'm too classy to do such a thing.
You would however, think it's fair enough to point out to the man that it may be time to step down and move on with his life. It's certainly not cause to threaten a charming host.
It occurred to me as I stood there, helpless, that I needed to take note of this moment. I wanted to make sure when I got fighting fit that I made those who dared to wish to attack me remember that Phil Atken is a god damn contender, not some toy to be pushed around and thrown aside in a box when they're done with it. Last week was just the first step. Last week I derailed a god damn war in progress and all Calvin had done was interrupt my show.
What do you think I have planned for a man who tried to take me down? Lollypops and good times? Rainbows and unicorns? Pixie dust and centaur farts? Goblin dribble and...
We hear Dirk's booming voice from the opposite side of the room.
Dickwood: We get the point.
Atken: Last Asylum was Phase 1, I said that I wasn't going to sit here and be a stepping stone to someone else. I wasn't going to be a guy who was about to roll over and let others go on to glory at his expense. I had a fire lit under me, I wanted in this tournament, I wanted to be the one in the limelight. I realised that I wanted to be on the first rung of the ladder. When I defeated Calvin Caine, it hit me that I was already on the first rung. Hell, if I was on the first, why couldn't I made it to the second? The third? Why couldn't I climb the ladder? If a man like Johnny Knuckles could do it, surely, surely so could I, I told myself.
For years, I've been trapped in the forest. I've been trying to find my way out but I kept finding myself making all the wrong turns. I even branded myself as a loser as if it was a badge of pride. I accepted the nickname “The Unfortunate”, as if to wear my failure on my sleeve. I thought by embracing it, I would overcome it. Maybe now I finally will.
I'm climbing that ladder Knuckles. You've had your turn, I want mine and when I get to the top of that latter, I'll bloody well jump for the ring and trust me, if I fall after that jump, you won't find me wallowing in donkey crap, desperate to cling on to my relevance.
