Post by Phil Atken on Sept 7, 2012 18:08:16 GMT -4
As we often do, we find ourselves in the company of the slap-dash Posse (name currently under review against new submission Dirk Dickwood Enterprises) that being “Superagent” Dirk Dickwood, Philip of Atken and as always, the immaculate Chief of Security, the sensual and sexual Hank.
They find themselves in Dirk Dickwood's lush offices of a desk, some chairs and some weird smelling pipes in the corner. Hank continues to fulfill his day to day duties by standing by the entrance to the room, arms afolded, ready to jump on any intruder who stands in his way. Dirk slams his hands down on the table, almost flipping it over on the side in the process and yells out at the top of his lungs...
Dickwood: Okay, team meeting!
Atken: When did you get the authority to call a team meeting? And when did we even get a team to meet? This is all too much too soon Dirk, my head is spinning trying to remember all these names.
Dickwood: We don't have any new staff...
Atken: Then who is that big guy over there?
Phil points his thumb over in the direction of his esteemed Chief of Security.
Dickwood: That's Hank. You know Hank.
Atken: Did he always have a beard?
Dickwood: He's in an experimental phase. He's trying to carve out a personality for himself that isn't just “mute tall guy”. So he grew a goatee...
Atken: ...so he could be “goateed mute tall guy”?
Dickwood: I'm not one to judge, the important thing is that he's trying. At least someone is trying these days in this enterprise of ours. Not like some people I won't mention who need their arse bailed out by their genius agent so they don't fly in to a stack of television sets...
Atken: How many times have I said “thank you” already? I think it must be twenty since I started keeping count and I only started doing that today. Who knows how many times I've said it in the past week.
Dickwood: Don't worry about it, it's all about saving the figurehead. I just done what any sane, rational manager and agent and babysitter would do in a situation like that, escape a heard of angry midgets chasing after him, run faster than he has ever ran in his life, sneak past the watchful hoard of irate little people and finally same my man's behind. The best agents do that on a day to day basis, only normally it's not broadcast live to a pay per view watching audience.
Dirk tries to give Phil a reassuring grin, almost creeping out Phil entirely. No, wait... yeah, it just creeped out Phil entirely. [/color]
Atken: Well, the important thing is the result. That's all that matters. To finally get Johnny Knuckles and his unique band of idiocy out of my life, out of my career... it's like a ten ton weight has been lifted from my shoulder. I almost feel like I can live life again.
Dickwood: Well, we certainly won't be seeing Johnny Knuckles for a long time!
Both Dirk and Phil tilt their heads back and cackle. Their cackling session is interrupted by Dirk's phone ringing, which Dirk promptly attends to.
Dickwood: The Dirkmeister speaking! … uh huh. Uh huh? Uhhhh huh! Hmmm. Okay thank you.
Phil scrunches up his face, brow all afurrowed trying to make sense of Dirk's facial reactions to the call.
Atken: Who has that?
Dickwood: Oh, y'know, just the APW offices. Just letting me know about your Asylum booking. Don't worry about it.
Phil leans forward in his chair like an eager pup.
Atken: Well...
Dickwood: Well?
Atken: What's the booking?
Dickwood: Well... it's a qualifier. If you win, you're in a title match...
Atken: Sounds good so far.
Dickwood: … the title match is an Extreme Elimination Chamber...
Atken: Dangerous but I can work with that.
Dickwood: ...and you have your qualifying match against... johnnyknuckles.
Dirk mutters the name as quickly as he can under his breath as Phil's eyes start to grow wider and wider.
Atken: Sorry, could you say that again, I didn't quite catch it.
Dickwood: johnnyknuckles.
Phil screws up his face again.
Atken: A bit more slowly please. I can't quite catch it.
Dickwood: JOHNNY KNUCKLES! You have a qualifying match on the next Asylum with Johnny freaking Knuckles.
Atken: But we...
Dickwood: I know... I know. I don't know how the hell they're letting him compete. There's no way he is physically fit. I saved your career by stopping him throwing you through that stack of televisions. We both know how career threatening that match was. There is no possible way he should be off the bench, he should still be in a hospital bed. Yet, here we stand. Here we stand.
Atken: We...
Dickwood: Look, I don't like this either. Remember, we worked together to put him out of our lives. We wanted to wash our hands of this whole matter but that's not what APW wants. They want us to continue to work in a living hell where Johnny Knuckles is at our every corner. No matter which way we turn, there he is. We can even kill him and he'll still keep coming at us like some kind of awful horror villain who isn't successful at killing anyone but never dies.
Atken: This was meant to be over Dirk. This is why I pay you. This is why your job exists. We got the job done. We should move on. This entire matter should be over and done with. I don't want Johnny Knuckles in my life any more. Shockwave was meant to be the finale of this torture. I wasn't sleeping, I was terrified of short people, I was hallucinating conversations about Randy Newman, I couldn't get erect. The last two months have been hell Dirk, they have been a nightmare. At Shockwave we finally washed off the Knuckles stank and now you're telling me APW want to throw a bucket of that stank back over us. I'm not happy Dirk. I want you to fix this and I want you to fix this now.
Dickwood: Don't start pretending you have a backbone Phil, we both know you don't. Still, maybe it's just a mistake, some kind of filing error. These things happen all the time in the high flying corporate environment. Give me a minute and I'll look into it.
Atken: You always think it's a filing error.
Dickwood: Let me call back and check.
Dirk grabs his phone and walks out of the room, dialing as he does so. Phil slumps down in his chair and stares up directly at the ceiling.
Atken: This is a living hell, that's what this is. This should have been over, done, finito at Shockwave. Hank's been terrorized enough, haven't ya Hank?
Phil swings his chair over to face Hank, who slowly hangs his head in a rather upset looking manner.
Atken: See, see what they've done to poor Hank. Normally he's so vibrant and full of life and now all he can do is hang his head. Last night he was boogie-ing up the joint, popping and locking like you've never seen. You have lived until you've seen Hank break dancing... let me tell ya. Now, now the memories are back. What we all went through on the road to Shockwave. What we were trying to end at Shockwave. I didn't just do it for me, I didn't even just do it for Hank and Dirk. At Shockwave, I wanted to end Johnny Knuckle's career for his own sake. I wanted to save him from himself. I just couldn't in good conscious let him continue to live his life the way he has. The destruction he put his body through for very little results. Sure, the fans would hoot and holler when he showed up but where do cheers get you when you are trying to raise a family. Do signs with your name on 'em pay the medical bills? I tossed Knuckles into that stack of television not because I wanted to, despite all the torment that he had brought to me life, no, I tossed him through that stack because I want to allow him to live. I want him to be able to play with his grand children one day, to pick them up, give them piggy back rides, all that grandfatherly stuff.
I didn't do what I did at Shockwave for me, I did it for Knuckles. I did it because I care. We all deserve a second chance at life. I thought if Knuckles was stuck in a hospital bed he would finally realise that the fans who bray for blood, who encourage his violent nature, they don't really care about him. They don't want to see him succeed. They just want to see his blood, it could be my blood, his blood, the referees blood, a nuns blood, it doesn't matter so long as they get what they paid for. Those fans, they see Knuckles as nothing but a meat puppet. Knuckles worshipped at the alter of violence because he didn't think of himself. He didn't think of his life. He didn't think of his future. He didn't
So I tried to save him. I tried to save Johnny Knuckles from himself, from his self-destructive nature. I was being a god damn humanitarian. Yet it seems like, unless some paperwork has went horribly wrong that Johnny Knuckles just keeps coming back. Some people respect a “never say die” attitude. I pity it. Just think what it is doing to your body to keep dragging yourself to the ring straight from the hospital room. To do that is to say “I have no future”. It's a wish to die in the ring. To die unloved and to be forgotten about in the annals of history.
Johnny, no one is going to remember if you try to bring your broken carcass down to the ring on Sunday night. It's not worth it. You may not realise it until years down the line but one day, you're going to call me. You're going to call me and thank me for finally being the guy to make you realise the error of your ways. That this industry isn't about violence, rather that violence is an unfortunate side effect. You're going to thank me for making you stop and evaluate you career and what you've put your body through.
Take the night off Johnny. Take the week off, take the month off, hell take the whole damn year off. It's time to shed the excess of youth and think about your future. Do you want to be another tick on the list of wrestler deaths or do you want to be remembered as a loving, caring, family man. Do you want to enjoy retirement? Do you want to sit on a rocking chair on your porch enjoying a refreshing glass of lemonade or do you want your corpse to be shoved in the nearest ditch so the scum bag indy promoter you died on doesn't have to face criminal charges?
I want what's best for you Johnny. I know what's best for you, even if you don't. If somehow, some way you find yourself in the ring on Sunday night... I'm going to make sure I damn well finish the job I started at Shockwave. I don't do this out of ego or greed. I do it for you Johnny, I do it for you. The title shot? That's just a bonus. Call it a reward for the charity work I done at Shockwave.
Dirk walks back into the room.
Dickwood: It's no mistake, that's the match.
Atken: We need to end this nightmare Dirk, for all our sakes. Clearly the shotgun wasn't enough at Shockwave, time to bring out the rocket launcher.
They find themselves in Dirk Dickwood's lush offices of a desk, some chairs and some weird smelling pipes in the corner. Hank continues to fulfill his day to day duties by standing by the entrance to the room, arms afolded, ready to jump on any intruder who stands in his way. Dirk slams his hands down on the table, almost flipping it over on the side in the process and yells out at the top of his lungs...
Dickwood: Okay, team meeting!
Atken: When did you get the authority to call a team meeting? And when did we even get a team to meet? This is all too much too soon Dirk, my head is spinning trying to remember all these names.
Dickwood: We don't have any new staff...
Atken: Then who is that big guy over there?
Phil points his thumb over in the direction of his esteemed Chief of Security.
Dickwood: That's Hank. You know Hank.
Atken: Did he always have a beard?
Dickwood: He's in an experimental phase. He's trying to carve out a personality for himself that isn't just “mute tall guy”. So he grew a goatee...
Atken: ...so he could be “goateed mute tall guy”?
Dickwood: I'm not one to judge, the important thing is that he's trying. At least someone is trying these days in this enterprise of ours. Not like some people I won't mention who need their arse bailed out by their genius agent so they don't fly in to a stack of television sets...
Atken: How many times have I said “thank you” already? I think it must be twenty since I started keeping count and I only started doing that today. Who knows how many times I've said it in the past week.
Dickwood: Don't worry about it, it's all about saving the figurehead. I just done what any sane, rational manager and agent and babysitter would do in a situation like that, escape a heard of angry midgets chasing after him, run faster than he has ever ran in his life, sneak past the watchful hoard of irate little people and finally same my man's behind. The best agents do that on a day to day basis, only normally it's not broadcast live to a pay per view watching audience.
Dirk tries to give Phil a reassuring grin, almost creeping out Phil entirely. No, wait... yeah, it just creeped out Phil entirely. [/color]
Atken: Well, the important thing is the result. That's all that matters. To finally get Johnny Knuckles and his unique band of idiocy out of my life, out of my career... it's like a ten ton weight has been lifted from my shoulder. I almost feel like I can live life again.
Dickwood: Well, we certainly won't be seeing Johnny Knuckles for a long time!
Both Dirk and Phil tilt their heads back and cackle. Their cackling session is interrupted by Dirk's phone ringing, which Dirk promptly attends to.
Dickwood: The Dirkmeister speaking! … uh huh. Uh huh? Uhhhh huh! Hmmm. Okay thank you.
Phil scrunches up his face, brow all afurrowed trying to make sense of Dirk's facial reactions to the call.
Atken: Who has that?
Dickwood: Oh, y'know, just the APW offices. Just letting me know about your Asylum booking. Don't worry about it.
Phil leans forward in his chair like an eager pup.
Atken: Well...
Dickwood: Well?
Atken: What's the booking?
Dickwood: Well... it's a qualifier. If you win, you're in a title match...
Atken: Sounds good so far.
Dickwood: … the title match is an Extreme Elimination Chamber...
Atken: Dangerous but I can work with that.
Dickwood: ...and you have your qualifying match against... johnnyknuckles.
Dirk mutters the name as quickly as he can under his breath as Phil's eyes start to grow wider and wider.
Atken: Sorry, could you say that again, I didn't quite catch it.
Dickwood: johnnyknuckles.
Phil screws up his face again.
Atken: A bit more slowly please. I can't quite catch it.
Dickwood: JOHNNY KNUCKLES! You have a qualifying match on the next Asylum with Johnny freaking Knuckles.
Atken: But we...
Dickwood: I know... I know. I don't know how the hell they're letting him compete. There's no way he is physically fit. I saved your career by stopping him throwing you through that stack of televisions. We both know how career threatening that match was. There is no possible way he should be off the bench, he should still be in a hospital bed. Yet, here we stand. Here we stand.
Atken: We...
Dickwood: Look, I don't like this either. Remember, we worked together to put him out of our lives. We wanted to wash our hands of this whole matter but that's not what APW wants. They want us to continue to work in a living hell where Johnny Knuckles is at our every corner. No matter which way we turn, there he is. We can even kill him and he'll still keep coming at us like some kind of awful horror villain who isn't successful at killing anyone but never dies.
Atken: This was meant to be over Dirk. This is why I pay you. This is why your job exists. We got the job done. We should move on. This entire matter should be over and done with. I don't want Johnny Knuckles in my life any more. Shockwave was meant to be the finale of this torture. I wasn't sleeping, I was terrified of short people, I was hallucinating conversations about Randy Newman, I couldn't get erect. The last two months have been hell Dirk, they have been a nightmare. At Shockwave we finally washed off the Knuckles stank and now you're telling me APW want to throw a bucket of that stank back over us. I'm not happy Dirk. I want you to fix this and I want you to fix this now.
Dickwood: Don't start pretending you have a backbone Phil, we both know you don't. Still, maybe it's just a mistake, some kind of filing error. These things happen all the time in the high flying corporate environment. Give me a minute and I'll look into it.
Atken: You always think it's a filing error.
Dickwood: Let me call back and check.
Dirk grabs his phone and walks out of the room, dialing as he does so. Phil slumps down in his chair and stares up directly at the ceiling.
Atken: This is a living hell, that's what this is. This should have been over, done, finito at Shockwave. Hank's been terrorized enough, haven't ya Hank?
Phil swings his chair over to face Hank, who slowly hangs his head in a rather upset looking manner.
Atken: See, see what they've done to poor Hank. Normally he's so vibrant and full of life and now all he can do is hang his head. Last night he was boogie-ing up the joint, popping and locking like you've never seen. You have lived until you've seen Hank break dancing... let me tell ya. Now, now the memories are back. What we all went through on the road to Shockwave. What we were trying to end at Shockwave. I didn't just do it for me, I didn't even just do it for Hank and Dirk. At Shockwave, I wanted to end Johnny Knuckle's career for his own sake. I wanted to save him from himself. I just couldn't in good conscious let him continue to live his life the way he has. The destruction he put his body through for very little results. Sure, the fans would hoot and holler when he showed up but where do cheers get you when you are trying to raise a family. Do signs with your name on 'em pay the medical bills? I tossed Knuckles into that stack of television not because I wanted to, despite all the torment that he had brought to me life, no, I tossed him through that stack because I want to allow him to live. I want him to be able to play with his grand children one day, to pick them up, give them piggy back rides, all that grandfatherly stuff.
I didn't do what I did at Shockwave for me, I did it for Knuckles. I did it because I care. We all deserve a second chance at life. I thought if Knuckles was stuck in a hospital bed he would finally realise that the fans who bray for blood, who encourage his violent nature, they don't really care about him. They don't want to see him succeed. They just want to see his blood, it could be my blood, his blood, the referees blood, a nuns blood, it doesn't matter so long as they get what they paid for. Those fans, they see Knuckles as nothing but a meat puppet. Knuckles worshipped at the alter of violence because he didn't think of himself. He didn't think of his life. He didn't think of his future. He didn't
So I tried to save him. I tried to save Johnny Knuckles from himself, from his self-destructive nature. I was being a god damn humanitarian. Yet it seems like, unless some paperwork has went horribly wrong that Johnny Knuckles just keeps coming back. Some people respect a “never say die” attitude. I pity it. Just think what it is doing to your body to keep dragging yourself to the ring straight from the hospital room. To do that is to say “I have no future”. It's a wish to die in the ring. To die unloved and to be forgotten about in the annals of history.
Johnny, no one is going to remember if you try to bring your broken carcass down to the ring on Sunday night. It's not worth it. You may not realise it until years down the line but one day, you're going to call me. You're going to call me and thank me for finally being the guy to make you realise the error of your ways. That this industry isn't about violence, rather that violence is an unfortunate side effect. You're going to thank me for making you stop and evaluate you career and what you've put your body through.
Take the night off Johnny. Take the week off, take the month off, hell take the whole damn year off. It's time to shed the excess of youth and think about your future. Do you want to be another tick on the list of wrestler deaths or do you want to be remembered as a loving, caring, family man. Do you want to enjoy retirement? Do you want to sit on a rocking chair on your porch enjoying a refreshing glass of lemonade or do you want your corpse to be shoved in the nearest ditch so the scum bag indy promoter you died on doesn't have to face criminal charges?
I want what's best for you Johnny. I know what's best for you, even if you don't. If somehow, some way you find yourself in the ring on Sunday night... I'm going to make sure I damn well finish the job I started at Shockwave. I don't do this out of ego or greed. I do it for you Johnny, I do it for you. The title shot? That's just a bonus. Call it a reward for the charity work I done at Shockwave.
Dirk walks back into the room.
Dickwood: It's no mistake, that's the match.
Atken: We need to end this nightmare Dirk, for all our sakes. Clearly the shotgun wasn't enough at Shockwave, time to bring out the rocket launcher.
