Post by Phil Atken on Jul 28, 2012 16:17:44 GMT -4
We find ourselves in the company of a man known to many as Phil Atken but to me he will always been known as Phil Atken. Phil finds himself in the offices of “Dirk Dickwood Enterprises Limited and So Forth”storming all over the twisting and turning corridors with purpose and aplomb. In his hand he clutches onto what appears to be a letter with APW HQ station head on it. He looks none to pleased with whatever would be on such a document.
In continuing his storming around the building, he eventually finds himself in front of the doors of Dirk's office and promptly kicks the door. After that doesn't work, he slams down on the handle and swings the door open. A startled Dirk Dickwood sits bolt upright from his couch. As Dirk tries to process in his brain-mind what has just happened, Phil bellows in his face.
Atken: DIRK!
Dickwood: What? I was having my pre-established nap! You know
Atken: Dirk, what the hell is this.
Dirk wipes his bleary eyes and tries to process what the shouting mad Scotsman is even holding in his hand.
Dickwood: Looks like a piece of paper.
Phil slams the paper into Dirk's chest.
Atken: Read it, go on, read the bloody thing.
Dirk unfurls the piece of paper in front of him, he reads through it in a thorough manner and concludes the reading by raising his eyebrows.
Dickwood: Hank?
Atken: Yes! Hank! They want Hank to wrestle. APW, or to be more specific that moronic buffoon Reggie Q. Reginald thinks that it's just a spiffy idea to put an untrained man-beast in the ring.
Dickwood: And you're angry about this?
Atken: Of course I'm angry about this! Hank's a machine but he's not a wrestler, he doesn't know the rules and well...
Dickwood: That could be a little bit of a problem...
Phil touches his nose to his finger and points towards Dirk.
Atken: Do you really think I can sit down with Hank and train him on the finer points of the rules of this grand industry in the space of a few days...
Dickwood: Well..
Before Dirk can even continue, he is cut off at the pass by the steamroller that is a Phil Atken train of thought.
Atken: I sure as hell can't. I mean for one thing I have a hairdressers appointment, then I got to see my dentist and not to mention going the weekly shopping. So I want you to do your job, call APW and tell them to fix this terrible clerical error.
Dickwood: I'll try but they can be real sticklers from time to time. I mean last time I called about you, they had forgotten you existed. I think there was snickering in the background too. Look, I'll call them but just don't expect any great results.
Dirk pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and begins to pound away at all of 'em fancy buttons.
Dickwood: It's ringing.
Dirk holds up a finger to his lip in attempt to hush up his charge.
Dickwood: Oh hi there, it's Dirk Dickwood... yes, that is my real name... I don't see what's so funny about it. Look, I'm calling to discuss my client Phil Atken, is there anyone there I can talk to discuss his latest booking on Asylum? … Why are you laugh? … Stop laughing! I need to talk some serious adult business about a serious adult business... THAT'S IT! PUT YOUR MANAGER ON! I DEMAND TO TALK TO YOUR MANAGER!
…
Hello?
Hello?
Dirk hangs up his phone and flips in back into his jacket pocket, like the modern man of technological means that he is.
Dickwood: Well, I tried.
Atken: And?
Dickwood: Were you paying any sort of attention to that call?
Atken: No, I was pondering what would happen if you had a 40 foot Lord Voldemort face an army of Mary Poppins... I'm sad that day will never come.
Dirk looks slightly puzzled at Phil's admittance but continues on diligently.
Dickwood: Well, it doesn't sound like the booking is going to change. You might as well face it your addicted... I mean you're facing Knuckles and a mystery man.
Atken: This is bloody ridiculous, not only am I stuck with an untrained brute as a tag partner...
Dickwood: Where is Hank any way?
Atken: Well, I thought that you might fail to succeed in correcting this travesty of justice so I sent him home with a copy of APW Rules and By-Laws... with my notes in the margins...
Dickwood: You sent Hank your “grey-area” notes? This isn't going to end well.
Atken: Well as you often remind me Dirk, Hank is a mute, not a moron. If I'm lumbered with him this week, I might as well give myself a fighting chance.
Dickwood: Let's just hope he isn't... overly eager then shall we?
Phil looks briefly concerned as he lets his actions and the consequence of those action there in slowly sink in. By the time the thought is fully developed, Phil almost looks like he is re
Atken: He does try his hardest to impress us, doesn't he?
Dickwood: That's my concern.
Atken: No! It'll be fine, it'll all be fine. Me and Hank, we're going to show Johnny Knuckles and Captain of Mystery a thing or two about a thing or two.
Dickwood: This sounds like you're about to start doing that thing you do...
Atken: … How very astute of you Dirk. Now as you couldn't do your job and rectify this mess of a match, I have a little message I need to get out there to the public at large.
Dickwood: Should I... should I go?
Atken: That sounds like an idea!
Dickwood: I'll go check on Hank.
Dirk rolls himself up off his own couch, thankfully landing on his feet instead of just crumbling down on the floor. He gains a steady footing and
Atken: So Jonathan, here we stand once again. Obviously, you're quite confident... hell I would say cocky given what happened as we stood against each other last time around. Who could blame you? You destroyed me. I didn't even get a look in. More than that, losing to you marked a distinct down turn on this little career of mine. For weeks on end I tried to convince myself that I could redeem myself with my next win. That if every match I had was a make or break one, I'd have that passion, that drive to save myself.
Didn't work out that way though.
I tried to make a name for myself in APW at your expense, it didn't happen. I tried to make a name for myself by taking down Overdrive on behalf of Asylum at the Test for the Best pre-show. That didn't happen either. I tried to save face, I tried to redeem myself, I tried to give my career purpose that it was so lacking by taking out Johnny Sykes... now he's got his eye of Michael Callahan's precious little title and well I... I'm nothing. I'm a joke. I'm an after thought. Every single new rookie entering the door on Meltdown has a better reputation in this company than I. Go ask any rookie, go ask any new draftee on Asylum, go ask the best in this company, hell go ask the worst in this company what they think of me. It's not pretty. I know, I've had other do it on my behalf.
Phil pulls out a piece of paper out of his pocket and begins to unfurl it in front of the camera. It appears to be a list of various members of Asylum and their predictions for Phil's future. Before anyone can get a great look at it however, Phil balls it up and tosses it over his shoulder.
Atken: I've never had the best reputation in this company, that much is true. I've had my peaks and valleys. I've been on the shelf and I've been off the shelf. Since I lost to you though Johnny, since you disposed of me so easily the peaks and valleys that I once found myself part of suddenly took a sharp turn downwards into way long single valley. People have no faith in me. No faith in my abilities to achieve. To them, I'm a guy who can't even beat up Johnny Knuckles. People can't see any Asylum gold around my waist when I can't even jump over the low, low, bottom of the pit barrier that is The Knucklemeister. The man who throws a party to celebrate what a loser he is. Johnny Knuckles is a walking punchline and Phil Atken can't even beat him.
As if I needed any more evidence of those feelings than the match we find ourselves in on Sunday night. Seems Reginald has such little faith in my own ability, my own powers and my own talent that I now find myself tagging with my own Chief of Security. A Chief of Security I must point out who is not a trained wrestler. He can punch, he can kick, he has a headbutt so mean it'll rip your skin right off. He's a deadly man, he's a scary man. He's not a gentleman to mess with. He is not however, a wrestler. We'll get him up to par by Sunday night Johnny though, don't you worry about that. He's a quick learner and I've heard he's delighted at the chance to get his giant paws around your idiotic throat.
So, I spend this week training up a non-wrestler to be my partner while you, you get a little gift. You get a mystery partner. You get to tag team up with a man I can't scout, can't study. You team with a man that I can't prepare for one way or the other. Must be nice to be you Johnny. To not care if you win or lose. To celebrate your failure and move on with your life. The concept of shame and regret don't even enter your little sphere, do they?
Let me be clear about Sunday Johnny, you marked my downturn. You marked my spiral into the sphere only know as irrelevance. With every loss my hands getting over closer to hanging up the boots but on Sunday, that can change. On Sunday, that will change. Hank will take a bullet for me, that is his job, that is his duty. So you have to ask yourself, what will a monster like Hank do to you to protect his employer? You may have your little mystery toy. You may have all the advantages in this match of our. When it comes down to it on Sunday though, it sure as hell won't feel like it. For that, you have my word.
In continuing his storming around the building, he eventually finds himself in front of the doors of Dirk's office and promptly kicks the door. After that doesn't work, he slams down on the handle and swings the door open. A startled Dirk Dickwood sits bolt upright from his couch. As Dirk tries to process in his brain-mind what has just happened, Phil bellows in his face.
Atken: DIRK!
Dickwood: What? I was having my pre-established nap! You know
Atken: Dirk, what the hell is this.
Dirk wipes his bleary eyes and tries to process what the shouting mad Scotsman is even holding in his hand.
Dickwood: Looks like a piece of paper.
Phil slams the paper into Dirk's chest.
Atken: Read it, go on, read the bloody thing.
Dirk unfurls the piece of paper in front of him, he reads through it in a thorough manner and concludes the reading by raising his eyebrows.
Dickwood: Hank?
Atken: Yes! Hank! They want Hank to wrestle. APW, or to be more specific that moronic buffoon Reggie Q. Reginald thinks that it's just a spiffy idea to put an untrained man-beast in the ring.
Dickwood: And you're angry about this?
Atken: Of course I'm angry about this! Hank's a machine but he's not a wrestler, he doesn't know the rules and well...
Dickwood: That could be a little bit of a problem...
Phil touches his nose to his finger and points towards Dirk.
Atken: Do you really think I can sit down with Hank and train him on the finer points of the rules of this grand industry in the space of a few days...
Dickwood: Well..
Before Dirk can even continue, he is cut off at the pass by the steamroller that is a Phil Atken train of thought.
Atken: I sure as hell can't. I mean for one thing I have a hairdressers appointment, then I got to see my dentist and not to mention going the weekly shopping. So I want you to do your job, call APW and tell them to fix this terrible clerical error.
Dickwood: I'll try but they can be real sticklers from time to time. I mean last time I called about you, they had forgotten you existed. I think there was snickering in the background too. Look, I'll call them but just don't expect any great results.
Dirk pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and begins to pound away at all of 'em fancy buttons.
Dickwood: It's ringing.
Dirk holds up a finger to his lip in attempt to hush up his charge.
Dickwood: Oh hi there, it's Dirk Dickwood... yes, that is my real name... I don't see what's so funny about it. Look, I'm calling to discuss my client Phil Atken, is there anyone there I can talk to discuss his latest booking on Asylum? … Why are you laugh? … Stop laughing! I need to talk some serious adult business about a serious adult business... THAT'S IT! PUT YOUR MANAGER ON! I DEMAND TO TALK TO YOUR MANAGER!
…
Hello?
Hello?
Dirk hangs up his phone and flips in back into his jacket pocket, like the modern man of technological means that he is.
Dickwood: Well, I tried.
Atken: And?
Dickwood: Were you paying any sort of attention to that call?
Atken: No, I was pondering what would happen if you had a 40 foot Lord Voldemort face an army of Mary Poppins... I'm sad that day will never come.
Dirk looks slightly puzzled at Phil's admittance but continues on diligently.
Dickwood: Well, it doesn't sound like the booking is going to change. You might as well face it your addicted... I mean you're facing Knuckles and a mystery man.
Atken: This is bloody ridiculous, not only am I stuck with an untrained brute as a tag partner...
Dickwood: Where is Hank any way?
Atken: Well, I thought that you might fail to succeed in correcting this travesty of justice so I sent him home with a copy of APW Rules and By-Laws... with my notes in the margins...
Dickwood: You sent Hank your “grey-area” notes? This isn't going to end well.
Atken: Well as you often remind me Dirk, Hank is a mute, not a moron. If I'm lumbered with him this week, I might as well give myself a fighting chance.
Dickwood: Let's just hope he isn't... overly eager then shall we?
Phil looks briefly concerned as he lets his actions and the consequence of those action there in slowly sink in. By the time the thought is fully developed, Phil almost looks like he is re
Atken: He does try his hardest to impress us, doesn't he?
Dickwood: That's my concern.
Atken: No! It'll be fine, it'll all be fine. Me and Hank, we're going to show Johnny Knuckles and Captain of Mystery a thing or two about a thing or two.
Dickwood: This sounds like you're about to start doing that thing you do...
Atken: … How very astute of you Dirk. Now as you couldn't do your job and rectify this mess of a match, I have a little message I need to get out there to the public at large.
Dickwood: Should I... should I go?
Atken: That sounds like an idea!
Dickwood: I'll go check on Hank.
Dirk rolls himself up off his own couch, thankfully landing on his feet instead of just crumbling down on the floor. He gains a steady footing and
Atken: So Jonathan, here we stand once again. Obviously, you're quite confident... hell I would say cocky given what happened as we stood against each other last time around. Who could blame you? You destroyed me. I didn't even get a look in. More than that, losing to you marked a distinct down turn on this little career of mine. For weeks on end I tried to convince myself that I could redeem myself with my next win. That if every match I had was a make or break one, I'd have that passion, that drive to save myself.
Didn't work out that way though.
I tried to make a name for myself in APW at your expense, it didn't happen. I tried to make a name for myself by taking down Overdrive on behalf of Asylum at the Test for the Best pre-show. That didn't happen either. I tried to save face, I tried to redeem myself, I tried to give my career purpose that it was so lacking by taking out Johnny Sykes... now he's got his eye of Michael Callahan's precious little title and well I... I'm nothing. I'm a joke. I'm an after thought. Every single new rookie entering the door on Meltdown has a better reputation in this company than I. Go ask any rookie, go ask any new draftee on Asylum, go ask the best in this company, hell go ask the worst in this company what they think of me. It's not pretty. I know, I've had other do it on my behalf.
Phil pulls out a piece of paper out of his pocket and begins to unfurl it in front of the camera. It appears to be a list of various members of Asylum and their predictions for Phil's future. Before anyone can get a great look at it however, Phil balls it up and tosses it over his shoulder.
Atken: I've never had the best reputation in this company, that much is true. I've had my peaks and valleys. I've been on the shelf and I've been off the shelf. Since I lost to you though Johnny, since you disposed of me so easily the peaks and valleys that I once found myself part of suddenly took a sharp turn downwards into way long single valley. People have no faith in me. No faith in my abilities to achieve. To them, I'm a guy who can't even beat up Johnny Knuckles. People can't see any Asylum gold around my waist when I can't even jump over the low, low, bottom of the pit barrier that is The Knucklemeister. The man who throws a party to celebrate what a loser he is. Johnny Knuckles is a walking punchline and Phil Atken can't even beat him.
As if I needed any more evidence of those feelings than the match we find ourselves in on Sunday night. Seems Reginald has such little faith in my own ability, my own powers and my own talent that I now find myself tagging with my own Chief of Security. A Chief of Security I must point out who is not a trained wrestler. He can punch, he can kick, he has a headbutt so mean it'll rip your skin right off. He's a deadly man, he's a scary man. He's not a gentleman to mess with. He is not however, a wrestler. We'll get him up to par by Sunday night Johnny though, don't you worry about that. He's a quick learner and I've heard he's delighted at the chance to get his giant paws around your idiotic throat.
So, I spend this week training up a non-wrestler to be my partner while you, you get a little gift. You get a mystery partner. You get to tag team up with a man I can't scout, can't study. You team with a man that I can't prepare for one way or the other. Must be nice to be you Johnny. To not care if you win or lose. To celebrate your failure and move on with your life. The concept of shame and regret don't even enter your little sphere, do they?
Let me be clear about Sunday Johnny, you marked my downturn. You marked my spiral into the sphere only know as irrelevance. With every loss my hands getting over closer to hanging up the boots but on Sunday, that can change. On Sunday, that will change. Hank will take a bullet for me, that is his job, that is his duty. So you have to ask yourself, what will a monster like Hank do to you to protect his employer? You may have your little mystery toy. You may have all the advantages in this match of our. When it comes down to it on Sunday though, it sure as hell won't feel like it. For that, you have my word.