Post by Azrael Goeren on Dec 16, 2012 1:32:12 GMT -4
Come on, don't do this.
Shut up, it'll be funny. Give me the box.
I hate when you say that. It’s never funny. Ever.
Consider it informative then.
How in the world can what you're doing be considered "informative"?
I'm giving the consumers a better product for a lesser price. In these choppy economic waters, who wouldn't want a life preserver like this tossed to them during the hectic holiday season?
You are so full of shit.
Fine. Consider it art then. I'm just like Christo with his orange drapes in Central Park, except my art won't be used as curtains for the homeless to fornicate behind.
You're going to get us arrested.
Christ, are you on the rag again Michael? Just give me the box. Nobody is going to do anything, just keep a lookout for that store manager. She's had it out for me ever since last Christmas.
What did you do last Christmas?
Well you see last Christmas I gave her my heart but the very next day, she gave it away.
I. Hate. You.
You fell for it.
I know. I hate myself too. Here's your stupid box. Not much left in it though, you've decorated all the mannequins up and down Madison Ave.
No problem, we've got more back in the hotel room. Plenty more.
The fashionable Chanel boutique on the corner of Madison and East 64th Street in New York City has been catering to the crème de la crème of society since it opened its doors decades ago. It’s a tourist destination in itself, a world renowned boutique of eclectic fashion and outrageously high prices. Most people who enter the doors cannot afford the luxuries that hang from the racks, but they still make this store a stop during their New York excursions just to soak in the glitz and glamour of it all.
They simply want to be seen here.
Not unlike Azrael Goeren, who currently finds himself standing in the front windows of Chanel disrobing a mannequin.
Goeren is all smiles as he reaches into a near-empty brown box lying at his feet and pulls out a brand new t-shirt with his grinning face plastered across the front of it. He slides the shirt up and over the mannequin's head and completes the outfit with a bright red beret featuring his initials and a gold pair of biker shorts that read "Goeren Approved!" across the crotch. He jumps down from the raised ledge the mannequin was standing on and takes a step back as if to admire his art. His ever-present personal assistant Michael Robinson stands nearby, forcing a nervous smile to the patrons who have jam-packed the store for holiday browsing.
Are you almost done?
Never interrupt an artist when he's working. It’s still missing something...
Hurry up, will you? I can't tell who actually works at this place and who is just here with daddy's credit card.
Whoever has the most eye glitter on is an employee.
Everyone in here has eye glitter! It’s like I'm at a friggin Lada Gaga concert...
The demented German holds his hands up to his eye, each hand forming an "L" and framing the mannequin in his line of sight. He suddenly snaps his fingers and pulls out a pair of oversized red-tinted aviator glasses from the inside of his wool jacket, resting them up on the mannequin's head. He proudly takes a step down and looks completely satisfied with his work as a small group of gawkers have gathered around him. One of the Chanel patrons step forward, smacking her gum and holding her Gucci bag casually over her wrist.
Is this like one of those new Italian ensemble pieces from the Winter Milan show?
Good eye, you are absolutely right mein liebling! You know this outfit has already been worn by world famous celebrities as well.
Like who?
Oh...how about celebrities like JONATHAN TAYLOR THOMAS and the guy who played RUFIO from Hook? Yeah. I think you've heard of them.
OHMYGOD. Really?
Of course. I never lie!
Azrael smiles back at his assistant who just shakes his head in dismay as the small group of hipsters and trust fund aficionados slam against each other to try and get a better look at the model. Goeren reaches into the bottom of the brown box and pulls out a handful of flyers, making sure he passes them out to every patron as they chat away about this completely fabricated fashion statement.
What are those?
It’s called social marketing. You wouldn't understand.
The flyer reads APW'S CHRISTMAS CHAOS - MADISON SQUARE GARDEN - LIVE DECEMBER 23rd along with a vibrant and colorful image of Azrael on one side handing out presents to orphans. On the other side of the flyer is a devilish imp roasting kittens in a furnace...with Mark Mania's face horribly photoshopped over the devil's head.
Make sure everyone gets one! No pushing! You'll notice there is a voucher on the bottom of each flyer that will enable you to get this joygasmic statement of high fashion on GoerenGear.com and receive 15% off any officially licensed Azrael Goeren Brazilian contraceptive at the same time! Remember to order the Christmas Chaos pay-per-view for an additional 5% off any Azrael Goeren edible thongs!
Goeren tucks the rest of the flyers inside his coat and wraps his arm around Michael, leading him out the door and into the chilly New York City afternoon air.
You are absolutely depraved. Did any of those women look like wrestling fans to you?
You never know. That redhead looked like she was a C.J. Gates fan...what with her droopy eyes and wide forehead. Besides, I don't want to use a scalpel for this operation mein freund. I want to use cluster bombs.
What operation is that?
I've dubbed it "Operation: Christmas Chaos Kitsch". I want this city buzzing for Christmas Chaos like they do when the Yankers are in the playoffs.
Yankees.
Whatever. I want everyone to be willing to sell their barely functioning liver just to be able to afford to buy the pay-per-view on the night of the 23rd. They need to be able to say "fuck my family, I'm watching Goeren turn Mania's face into a modern-art masterpiece!" when the time comes, understand?
Not in the least. You think decorating mannequins and posting flyers everywhere is going to bring attention to your match against Mania? Henrik...APW has millions of advertising dollars. You don't have to do this...hell...you can't afford to do this.
Don't be absurd. It’s the least I can do for my beautiful promotion. I alone know what’s best for APW and I will continue to safeguard her from all corrupting influences...aside from my own of course. This is the new form of advertising, it’s the new chic. You take everyday life and turn it into an in-your-face advertisement and these sheep will gobble it down. Imagine the revenue! Imagine the attention!
Imagine how annoying you've been to New York City today.
Nonsense, these people love me. I'm their favorite adopted son. I'm the biggest thing to hit this city since Benito Mussolini!
I can't even begin to comprehend who you really meant to say there.
As the two men stroll down the streets, the turn the corner onto 5th Ave, overlooking Central Park. The leafless trees guard the park like silent sentinels with each one of them giving off the dull glow of incandescent Christmas lights that the city sets up in the branches every year. Up and down 5th Ave there are wreaths, artificial trees, lights...all of the Christmas festoonery that makes New York City a truly special place during the holiday season. Further down the street a group of carolers have positioned themselves on the street corner, an overturned top hat filled with a handful of loose change from passerbys resting in front of them. The group, temporarily distracted by their latest rendition of "I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day", don't see Azrael cramming a handful of his Christmas Chaos flyers into their hat and casually walking away.
Smell that brisk Manhattan air, Michael. It’s good to be back here. You know when I came to this country the first promotion I worked for was right here in New York.
Really? I never knew that.
Hmm-mmm. It was this pathetically tiny promotion that held their violent bloodbath shows over at Gleason's Gym in Brooklyn...we would...
Henrik. What the hell is wrong with you? I was being sarcastic! I worked there! That's how you and I met! I was one of the cameramen there!
...ah yes. I kidnapped you once, did I not?
You've got to stop inhaling industrial solvent before you head out every morning. Man.
The two men continue their stroll through the city, seemingly headed to an unknown destination. Every few steps, Azrael slaps a Christmas Chaos flyer on a storefront window or on a New York City garbage can. Every homeless man who holds out his hand for change? Bam. Christmas Chaos flyer in his mitts. Every parked taxi? Bam. Christmas Chaos flyer under the windshield wiper.
You know what I should do?
Attend years of therapy for your deranged behavior and stimulant addictions?
Nein, don't be silly. I should head back to those carolers and rent them out for a night.
Some of those carolers were dudes.
That's not what I meant...although you know that wouldn't stop me. I mean I should rent them out for Christmas Chaos! Bring a little festive cheer to the event, what do you think?
I think that's the worst idea you've had since that Azrael Goeren breakfast cereal you tried to market.
Hey! Creamy Goeren O's will make it on the shelves once those pesky lawsuits end. Think about it though...the things I've got in store for Mark Mania truly need a soundtrack accompaniment. You've seen the list.
I've seen the list.
I have a list! A list of things I want to do to that whore of a man! Picture this, Michael...I've got Mania locked into a scissor armbar with a headlock hook. I'm pulling back on his head, his tears of misery and total sadness streaming down his face and across my arms...all the while my carolers are singing "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" at ringside! The minute they get to the "hang a shining star upon the highest bough" line, I'll snap his C3 cervical vertebra in total sync with the music! Now that's art. That's a show, baby!
Dear God. You are a sick fuck.
We're doing this. We're totally doing this. Come on, let’s head back and get them. I bet I could pay off the fat ones with a Wendy's frosty or...
Before Azrael can head back, a snow white 1952 Bentley Saloon luxury car pulls up beside the two men. Leaping out of the car is Angel, an ex-stripper that Azrael has apparently made into his newest valet. She throws her legs up around his waist and kisses him, forcing Goeren to hold her up against the hood of the car as they sloppily make out in public. The driver of the car steps out, looking like his day has already been completely ruined from chauffeuring Angel around.
Oh Henrik baby, I missed you so much!
I missed you too mein kleine kuchen!
Oh come on, it’s been like...two hours!
Don't mind him darling, he's never known the touch of a woman without having a major credit card transaction processed beforehand. Did you have fun shopping here on 5th Avenue?
Angel giddily jumps down and bounces on over to the luxury car, pulling out armfuls of brightly colored shopping bags. Mike instinctively rubs his head as he spots words like "Tiffany's", "Armani" and "Oscar De La Renta" printed on each bag.
How much did you spend?
Michael! How dare you sir, one never asks a beautiful lady like this how much she spends spoiling herself. How gauche!
I hit up La Petite Coquette before we came back baby. I got this lace outfit that you are absolutely going to die for.
Ooooo! Sounds delish!
Hey Angel, quick question for you. When the wind here in the city blows through your legs, how loud is the whistling?
Shut the hell up! You're lucky Henrik even keeps you around anymore! If I had my way you'd be out on your ass!
You would know, I'm sure you have plenty of experience "out on your ass".
Are you going to let him talk to me like that?
Both of you. Please. I've got far too much on my mind to deal with your little rivalry. Either settle this like adults and have a knife fight in the Burger King parking lot or keep your emotions in check until after Christmas Chaos. We'll take care of it then. Actually...that reminds me...Oh, Bitterman!
The driver, who has since crossed his arms and is leaning up against the car, rolls his eyes.
Yo man, for the last time my name is Tyrese.
Bitterman is such a better name for your profession though, don't you think so Bitterman?
Call me that one mo' time and I slap the shit out of you.
I appreciate your frankness, Tyrese. Now then...did you pick up everything I asked you for while my lovely flower here was shopping? Did you get everything on the list?
See for yo'self man.
Goeren digs into the back seat, his feet almost leaving the ground as he pulls out a few heavy bags from what appears to be hardware stores from across the city.
Let’s see we have a ball hammer, a claw hammer and a sledge hammer. We've got a staple gun, some barbed wire pouches and a box of nails. We've got three...no...four fluorescent light tubes, some kerosene and a grill lighter. What's this? Ah yes...a bottle of crazy glue and 12" x 12" sheets of glass. Fine work indeed.
Doing some home improvement, Henrik?
Ha! This mook doesn't get it. That's the shopping list for the Overdrive Title match, ya retard.
Stay classy, Angel. Never change. I knew what it was for, apparently you and your man share the inability to detect sarcasm. It’s still really messed up though.
Nein, it’s not really. This is about as tame as I can get. I take no personal joy in putting Mania through this, it’s simply removing the sickness from APW before it spreads. We cannot have a man like Mania as our Overdrive Champion. He is a fraudulent hero duping my children into believing his lies and he must be stopped if APW is to flourish. This city will bear witness to my cleansing soon enough...with everything I've done today and plan to do leading up to Christmas Chaos, not a single New Yorker will dare miss the festivities on the night of December 23rd. They'll be compelled to watch...and then rejoice as I put this old dog down for good.
Azrael glances across the street and spots the Champignon Cafe nestled near the park. His face arches into a twisted smile as he rests a hand on Mike's shoulder.
Did you bring your video camera, old friend?
Of course. It should still be in the car...unless jiggly bits over here pawned it for another nipple piercing.
Son of a...
Fetch it and meet me across the street in the cafe. I've got a champion to defy.
The camera kicks on and reveals a cozy coffee house with busy baristas and bundled up customers. The camera is situated on a small round wooden table near a window that overlooks Central Park. Walking into view from the counter is Azrael Goeren who is balancing a plate and two cups of coffee in his hands. He places the plate and one cup down in front of him, revealing a carrot cake cupcake and a no-doubt ridiculously complicated coffee order. He then slides the other cup of coffee towards the camera so that it sits off to the side, revealing it to contain an intricately designed heart drawn into the foam. Azrael takes a sip of his coffee and smiles warmly back into the camera.
Herr Mania, I promised that you and I would have ourselves a little heart-to-heart before Christmas Chaos, however as you've completely ignored my texts, tweets and strip-o-grams I fear that this might be the best chance we get before we tango. Consider this sit-down my attempt to keep things cordial between us. Look, I even had the barista make a nice little heart in your latte for you.
Isn't that cute?
I hope you don't mind if I eat in front of you either, I asked the waitress if they served any of your personal favorites here but it looks like we are out of luck. No French caviar or fertilized duck embryos behind the counter at this joint.
Bloody heathens, I know.
Listen, I just wanted to sit down and let you know that I don't blame you for your actions at last Overdrive. I totally forgive you for your devious attack on me during our tag-team match and then for the little temper tantrum you threw in the parking lot later that night. You were like a wildman out there, completely losing touch with your higher faculties and better judgment.
Such anger in you. So much rage.
It looks to me like I brought down to the level of an animal.
Kinda like Delikado was when he was Overdrive Champion.
Of course you're nothing like that though, are you Herr Mania? Nein...you are a champion of the people who would never stoop that low. You've brought the Overdrive Title back to its prestigious level! You're the savior of APW from all of the maniacs like myself.
Of course you are.
That is until I pull your strings and show the world just how pretty you can dance.
You don't like losing control of yourself and the situation, do you mein freund? How much did you hate yourself for bending to the will of the fans at Overdrive when they were cheering for you to accept my challenge? Christ, that must have really burned you up inside. I could see it in your eyes that night, you knew exactly what was best for you. You wanted so badly to just fight me with no championship on the line and hope that I get myself disqualified so that you can scurry away like the vermin you are and fight another day with your shiny shield across your shoulder. You knew getting into a match against me with that belt on the line was the worst possible scenario for you because you've seen how depraved I can be when I'm after something I want. You wisely wanted no part of that.
Those fans though.
Those damn fans.
They cheered for their hero, didn't they? They applauded and goaded you on and backed you into a corner. They demanded that their artificial hero take out that German freak once and for all. How can the amazing Mark Mania turn down a challenge from the wicked Azrael Goeren? After all, not a day has gone by since you won the Overdrive Title at One Night In Hell where you haven't told us how great you are. You're the man that restored honor and integrity back to the belt, isn't that what you said? How could you not easily beat a disrespectful deviant when you're apparently the best thing to happen to the Overdrive belt since sliced bread and backseat handjobs?
Those damn fans.
They never let up, did they? They never gave you a way to get out of that ring with your charade intact. If you walked away, that would have exposed the real Mark Mania to the world and we certainly can't have that now, can we? Might hurt your stock options. The world would have seen the cowardly, underhanded man you truly are and not the shining white knight you've built your public image up to be if you refused me.
So, against your better judgment, you didn't refuse to put the title on the line.
You behaved exactly the way I predicted you would, you really did play your part perfectly.
Bravo sir.
However your next move surprised even me. In some vain attempt to save face after your waffling, you decide to make this a no disqualification match. Dear me, that one definitely shocked me. Why would anyone in their right mind want to purposely throw the rule books out the window in a match against yours truly?
Do you have any idea what I'm capable of, Herr Mania? I hope that you truly do and don't actually believe the gibberish doublespeak you spew every week where you try to portray me as some worthless bum who doesn't deserve to share the same hallowed ring space as the mighty Mark Mania. Save those inane ramblings for your official press releases and morning affirmations. We are both well aware of our storied careers so trying to say I don't deserve to be in the ring with you just makes you appear sad and out of touch with reality.
No disqualification matches are MY matches, they are my children. They are the beautiful means of seeing red, losing control and not being reprimanded for it. You remember what happened during our first match, ja? You won it of course...but by disqualification because I only wanted to cause you pain and see how far I could push you before you broke. I remember every savory moment of that match, every scream that escaped your lips and the orgasmic sounds of your fingernails desperately scraping the ring mat to escape my cloverleaf.
A more beautiful symphony of pain and anguish could not have been produced. You were saved from being crippled that night by the rules of APW...a set of rules you willingly tossed aside at Christmas Chaos just to get your sheep fans to chant your name and feed your disgusting ego. I have to admit, Herr Mania...in all of my years of competing in this country I have never seen a more delusional man in all my life. You not only placed the proverbial noose around your own neck but you jumped off the stool with gusto. That is either the sign of an incredibly brave man or an incredibly foolish one. Based on everything you've babbled on about me since winning that title, I would venture to guess the latter is more accurate.
I know what you are capable of, Herr Mania. I'm not going into this match thinking that I'm going to tear through you like construction paper. Nothing can be further from the truth. I am more than aware of your past accomplishments and what you can do to me. When you strip down this faux-image you made for yourself there is still an immensely talented and tough competitor hiding underneath that I would never take lightly. I, unlike you, respect what my opponent is capable of and have made plans accordingly. I just know that this train wreck that is about to occur will be like nothing you've ever encountered in your entire career. Men like you think they've seen it all in the wrestling world and I have no doubt you've been through wars in the past...but I can assure you that nothing has prepared you for the depravity I bring into these matches.
My body tells the story of my history in matches with no rules.
My right bicep is riddled with jigsaw scars from being torn open by broken glass. My left leg contains black bruises that never healed after I fell from a scaffold. My right wrist juts out at an angle because of a broken bone that was never set properly and I have scar tissue across a majority of my lower back after rolling in fire during an Inferno match.
Would you like to know something truly horrifying though, Herr Mania?
I won all of those matches.
Imagine how my opponent looked after each one. Better yet, simply wait until Christmas Eve and look in a fucking mirror to see for yourself. Or try to look, depending on if I decide to leave your eyesight intact.
I want you to know that despite your disrespect towards me throughout our entire ordeal, there is no hatred on my part towards you so I don't want you to expect any vindictive attacks before Christmas Chaos. I'm saving the entire bag of presents for our match and I truly hope you understand that I'm doing this for your own good.
The things that you do each and every week, parading yourself like a prized poodle and pretending to be a man of the people is absolutely shameful. You want so badly for the world to view you as a champion's champion that you've built up this aura around your name that you cannot possible live up to. A real champion does not run away from his challengers. A real champion does not abandon his tag-team partner during a match, regardless of who it is. A real champion does not sneakily attack an opponent when he's being distracted.
Let’s be honest, Herr Mania...you've done more damage to the credibility of the Overdrive Title with your actions than Delikado ever did. Privately you are everything that you publicly say you hate. A two-faced Janus. Brave in the spotlight. Cowering in the shadows.
I have never lied about the man I am. When I take the Overdrive Title from you at Christmas Chaos, APW will be absolutely horrified by the things that I will do as champion. If that title belt was ever sullied before, it will pale in comparison to the excrement I drag it through as its proud holder.
APW will be appalled by me at first...then they'll start to adapt. To change. To learn.
My beautiful APW will see that I am simply the forbearer of change. As Overdrive Champion, you have stagnated the growth of my APW by pretending to be something you are not. You cast judgment upon men like me from your office building, acting like a modern-day King Solomon and pretending that you still have your finger on the pulse of this business. You are so completely out of touch with what wrestling is devolving into its almost shocking.
I am a man of the people.
I am everything that is wrong with wrestling today but in the future I'll be everything that is right with it. Any sane man can look at the world today and realize that humanity is spiritually sick and morally destitute. Watch trash television for an hour or simply scan the internet for a day and you'll see how far you have all fallen.
I was always at that level, now the rest of you are joining the party. Our fans will grow and grow when they see what horrors I bring upon APW and the sleaze that infests every pore of it. I will make APW into something wonderful that will spearhead the filth movement and solidify this company for decades to come. We'll be ahead of the curve, thanks to me...and it all starts when I tear that Overdrive Title away from your mangled body at Christmas Chaos.
You should be proud. You will help me give birth to a new era of professional wrestling. Not a clichéd expression simply used to describe an individual's championship reign, but encompassing an entire movement that will turn APW into the premier cesspool for debauchery and unparalleled violence.
This will be your lasting legacy to the sport, Herr Mania. I thank you for following along so obediently up until now. My only regret is that I fear you are too far deluded to save. You refuse to leave the safety and security of your lies and therefore will have to be baptized into my vision of APW by blood and broken bones at Christmas Chaos.
You shouldn't fear this experience, Herr Mania.
After all...you brought it on yourself.
With that, Azrael grabs hold of his coffee and takes a very slow and deliberate sip. His eyes never cease staring directly forward, that twisted smile curling across his face once more. He sets the coffee cup down and folds his hands politely on the table before the camera slowly fades to black.
Shut up, it'll be funny. Give me the box.
I hate when you say that. It’s never funny. Ever.
Consider it informative then.
How in the world can what you're doing be considered "informative"?
I'm giving the consumers a better product for a lesser price. In these choppy economic waters, who wouldn't want a life preserver like this tossed to them during the hectic holiday season?
You are so full of shit.
Fine. Consider it art then. I'm just like Christo with his orange drapes in Central Park, except my art won't be used as curtains for the homeless to fornicate behind.
You're going to get us arrested.
Christ, are you on the rag again Michael? Just give me the box. Nobody is going to do anything, just keep a lookout for that store manager. She's had it out for me ever since last Christmas.
What did you do last Christmas?
Well you see last Christmas I gave her my heart but the very next day, she gave it away.
I. Hate. You.
You fell for it.
I know. I hate myself too. Here's your stupid box. Not much left in it though, you've decorated all the mannequins up and down Madison Ave.
No problem, we've got more back in the hotel room. Plenty more.
The fashionable Chanel boutique on the corner of Madison and East 64th Street in New York City has been catering to the crème de la crème of society since it opened its doors decades ago. It’s a tourist destination in itself, a world renowned boutique of eclectic fashion and outrageously high prices. Most people who enter the doors cannot afford the luxuries that hang from the racks, but they still make this store a stop during their New York excursions just to soak in the glitz and glamour of it all.
They simply want to be seen here.
Not unlike Azrael Goeren, who currently finds himself standing in the front windows of Chanel disrobing a mannequin.
Goeren is all smiles as he reaches into a near-empty brown box lying at his feet and pulls out a brand new t-shirt with his grinning face plastered across the front of it. He slides the shirt up and over the mannequin's head and completes the outfit with a bright red beret featuring his initials and a gold pair of biker shorts that read "Goeren Approved!" across the crotch. He jumps down from the raised ledge the mannequin was standing on and takes a step back as if to admire his art. His ever-present personal assistant Michael Robinson stands nearby, forcing a nervous smile to the patrons who have jam-packed the store for holiday browsing.
Are you almost done?
Never interrupt an artist when he's working. It’s still missing something...
Hurry up, will you? I can't tell who actually works at this place and who is just here with daddy's credit card.
Whoever has the most eye glitter on is an employee.
Everyone in here has eye glitter! It’s like I'm at a friggin Lada Gaga concert...
The demented German holds his hands up to his eye, each hand forming an "L" and framing the mannequin in his line of sight. He suddenly snaps his fingers and pulls out a pair of oversized red-tinted aviator glasses from the inside of his wool jacket, resting them up on the mannequin's head. He proudly takes a step down and looks completely satisfied with his work as a small group of gawkers have gathered around him. One of the Chanel patrons step forward, smacking her gum and holding her Gucci bag casually over her wrist.
Is this like one of those new Italian ensemble pieces from the Winter Milan show?
Good eye, you are absolutely right mein liebling! You know this outfit has already been worn by world famous celebrities as well.
Like who?
Oh...how about celebrities like JONATHAN TAYLOR THOMAS and the guy who played RUFIO from Hook? Yeah. I think you've heard of them.
OHMYGOD. Really?
Of course. I never lie!
Azrael smiles back at his assistant who just shakes his head in dismay as the small group of hipsters and trust fund aficionados slam against each other to try and get a better look at the model. Goeren reaches into the bottom of the brown box and pulls out a handful of flyers, making sure he passes them out to every patron as they chat away about this completely fabricated fashion statement.
What are those?
It’s called social marketing. You wouldn't understand.
The flyer reads APW'S CHRISTMAS CHAOS - MADISON SQUARE GARDEN - LIVE DECEMBER 23rd along with a vibrant and colorful image of Azrael on one side handing out presents to orphans. On the other side of the flyer is a devilish imp roasting kittens in a furnace...with Mark Mania's face horribly photoshopped over the devil's head.
Make sure everyone gets one! No pushing! You'll notice there is a voucher on the bottom of each flyer that will enable you to get this joygasmic statement of high fashion on GoerenGear.com and receive 15% off any officially licensed Azrael Goeren Brazilian contraceptive at the same time! Remember to order the Christmas Chaos pay-per-view for an additional 5% off any Azrael Goeren edible thongs!
Goeren tucks the rest of the flyers inside his coat and wraps his arm around Michael, leading him out the door and into the chilly New York City afternoon air.
You are absolutely depraved. Did any of those women look like wrestling fans to you?
You never know. That redhead looked like she was a C.J. Gates fan...what with her droopy eyes and wide forehead. Besides, I don't want to use a scalpel for this operation mein freund. I want to use cluster bombs.
What operation is that?
I've dubbed it "Operation: Christmas Chaos Kitsch". I want this city buzzing for Christmas Chaos like they do when the Yankers are in the playoffs.
Yankees.
Whatever. I want everyone to be willing to sell their barely functioning liver just to be able to afford to buy the pay-per-view on the night of the 23rd. They need to be able to say "fuck my family, I'm watching Goeren turn Mania's face into a modern-art masterpiece!" when the time comes, understand?
Not in the least. You think decorating mannequins and posting flyers everywhere is going to bring attention to your match against Mania? Henrik...APW has millions of advertising dollars. You don't have to do this...hell...you can't afford to do this.
Don't be absurd. It’s the least I can do for my beautiful promotion. I alone know what’s best for APW and I will continue to safeguard her from all corrupting influences...aside from my own of course. This is the new form of advertising, it’s the new chic. You take everyday life and turn it into an in-your-face advertisement and these sheep will gobble it down. Imagine the revenue! Imagine the attention!
Imagine how annoying you've been to New York City today.
Nonsense, these people love me. I'm their favorite adopted son. I'm the biggest thing to hit this city since Benito Mussolini!
I can't even begin to comprehend who you really meant to say there.
As the two men stroll down the streets, the turn the corner onto 5th Ave, overlooking Central Park. The leafless trees guard the park like silent sentinels with each one of them giving off the dull glow of incandescent Christmas lights that the city sets up in the branches every year. Up and down 5th Ave there are wreaths, artificial trees, lights...all of the Christmas festoonery that makes New York City a truly special place during the holiday season. Further down the street a group of carolers have positioned themselves on the street corner, an overturned top hat filled with a handful of loose change from passerbys resting in front of them. The group, temporarily distracted by their latest rendition of "I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day", don't see Azrael cramming a handful of his Christmas Chaos flyers into their hat and casually walking away.
Smell that brisk Manhattan air, Michael. It’s good to be back here. You know when I came to this country the first promotion I worked for was right here in New York.
Really? I never knew that.
Hmm-mmm. It was this pathetically tiny promotion that held their violent bloodbath shows over at Gleason's Gym in Brooklyn...we would...
Henrik. What the hell is wrong with you? I was being sarcastic! I worked there! That's how you and I met! I was one of the cameramen there!
...ah yes. I kidnapped you once, did I not?
You've got to stop inhaling industrial solvent before you head out every morning. Man.
The two men continue their stroll through the city, seemingly headed to an unknown destination. Every few steps, Azrael slaps a Christmas Chaos flyer on a storefront window or on a New York City garbage can. Every homeless man who holds out his hand for change? Bam. Christmas Chaos flyer in his mitts. Every parked taxi? Bam. Christmas Chaos flyer under the windshield wiper.
You know what I should do?
Attend years of therapy for your deranged behavior and stimulant addictions?
Nein, don't be silly. I should head back to those carolers and rent them out for a night.
Some of those carolers were dudes.
That's not what I meant...although you know that wouldn't stop me. I mean I should rent them out for Christmas Chaos! Bring a little festive cheer to the event, what do you think?
I think that's the worst idea you've had since that Azrael Goeren breakfast cereal you tried to market.
Hey! Creamy Goeren O's will make it on the shelves once those pesky lawsuits end. Think about it though...the things I've got in store for Mark Mania truly need a soundtrack accompaniment. You've seen the list.
I've seen the list.
I have a list! A list of things I want to do to that whore of a man! Picture this, Michael...I've got Mania locked into a scissor armbar with a headlock hook. I'm pulling back on his head, his tears of misery and total sadness streaming down his face and across my arms...all the while my carolers are singing "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" at ringside! The minute they get to the "hang a shining star upon the highest bough" line, I'll snap his C3 cervical vertebra in total sync with the music! Now that's art. That's a show, baby!
Dear God. You are a sick fuck.
We're doing this. We're totally doing this. Come on, let’s head back and get them. I bet I could pay off the fat ones with a Wendy's frosty or...
Before Azrael can head back, a snow white 1952 Bentley Saloon luxury car pulls up beside the two men. Leaping out of the car is Angel, an ex-stripper that Azrael has apparently made into his newest valet. She throws her legs up around his waist and kisses him, forcing Goeren to hold her up against the hood of the car as they sloppily make out in public. The driver of the car steps out, looking like his day has already been completely ruined from chauffeuring Angel around.
Oh Henrik baby, I missed you so much!
I missed you too mein kleine kuchen!
Oh come on, it’s been like...two hours!
Don't mind him darling, he's never known the touch of a woman without having a major credit card transaction processed beforehand. Did you have fun shopping here on 5th Avenue?
Angel giddily jumps down and bounces on over to the luxury car, pulling out armfuls of brightly colored shopping bags. Mike instinctively rubs his head as he spots words like "Tiffany's", "Armani" and "Oscar De La Renta" printed on each bag.
How much did you spend?
Michael! How dare you sir, one never asks a beautiful lady like this how much she spends spoiling herself. How gauche!
I hit up La Petite Coquette before we came back baby. I got this lace outfit that you are absolutely going to die for.
Ooooo! Sounds delish!
Hey Angel, quick question for you. When the wind here in the city blows through your legs, how loud is the whistling?
Shut the hell up! You're lucky Henrik even keeps you around anymore! If I had my way you'd be out on your ass!
You would know, I'm sure you have plenty of experience "out on your ass".
Are you going to let him talk to me like that?
Both of you. Please. I've got far too much on my mind to deal with your little rivalry. Either settle this like adults and have a knife fight in the Burger King parking lot or keep your emotions in check until after Christmas Chaos. We'll take care of it then. Actually...that reminds me...Oh, Bitterman!
The driver, who has since crossed his arms and is leaning up against the car, rolls his eyes.
Yo man, for the last time my name is Tyrese.
Bitterman is such a better name for your profession though, don't you think so Bitterman?
Call me that one mo' time and I slap the shit out of you.
I appreciate your frankness, Tyrese. Now then...did you pick up everything I asked you for while my lovely flower here was shopping? Did you get everything on the list?
See for yo'self man.
Goeren digs into the back seat, his feet almost leaving the ground as he pulls out a few heavy bags from what appears to be hardware stores from across the city.
Let’s see we have a ball hammer, a claw hammer and a sledge hammer. We've got a staple gun, some barbed wire pouches and a box of nails. We've got three...no...four fluorescent light tubes, some kerosene and a grill lighter. What's this? Ah yes...a bottle of crazy glue and 12" x 12" sheets of glass. Fine work indeed.
Doing some home improvement, Henrik?
Ha! This mook doesn't get it. That's the shopping list for the Overdrive Title match, ya retard.
Stay classy, Angel. Never change. I knew what it was for, apparently you and your man share the inability to detect sarcasm. It’s still really messed up though.
Nein, it’s not really. This is about as tame as I can get. I take no personal joy in putting Mania through this, it’s simply removing the sickness from APW before it spreads. We cannot have a man like Mania as our Overdrive Champion. He is a fraudulent hero duping my children into believing his lies and he must be stopped if APW is to flourish. This city will bear witness to my cleansing soon enough...with everything I've done today and plan to do leading up to Christmas Chaos, not a single New Yorker will dare miss the festivities on the night of December 23rd. They'll be compelled to watch...and then rejoice as I put this old dog down for good.
Azrael glances across the street and spots the Champignon Cafe nestled near the park. His face arches into a twisted smile as he rests a hand on Mike's shoulder.
Did you bring your video camera, old friend?
Of course. It should still be in the car...unless jiggly bits over here pawned it for another nipple piercing.
Son of a...
Fetch it and meet me across the street in the cafe. I've got a champion to defy.
***********************************
The camera kicks on and reveals a cozy coffee house with busy baristas and bundled up customers. The camera is situated on a small round wooden table near a window that overlooks Central Park. Walking into view from the counter is Azrael Goeren who is balancing a plate and two cups of coffee in his hands. He places the plate and one cup down in front of him, revealing a carrot cake cupcake and a no-doubt ridiculously complicated coffee order. He then slides the other cup of coffee towards the camera so that it sits off to the side, revealing it to contain an intricately designed heart drawn into the foam. Azrael takes a sip of his coffee and smiles warmly back into the camera.
Herr Mania, I promised that you and I would have ourselves a little heart-to-heart before Christmas Chaos, however as you've completely ignored my texts, tweets and strip-o-grams I fear that this might be the best chance we get before we tango. Consider this sit-down my attempt to keep things cordial between us. Look, I even had the barista make a nice little heart in your latte for you.
Isn't that cute?
I hope you don't mind if I eat in front of you either, I asked the waitress if they served any of your personal favorites here but it looks like we are out of luck. No French caviar or fertilized duck embryos behind the counter at this joint.
Bloody heathens, I know.
Listen, I just wanted to sit down and let you know that I don't blame you for your actions at last Overdrive. I totally forgive you for your devious attack on me during our tag-team match and then for the little temper tantrum you threw in the parking lot later that night. You were like a wildman out there, completely losing touch with your higher faculties and better judgment.
Such anger in you. So much rage.
It looks to me like I brought down to the level of an animal.
Kinda like Delikado was when he was Overdrive Champion.
Of course you're nothing like that though, are you Herr Mania? Nein...you are a champion of the people who would never stoop that low. You've brought the Overdrive Title back to its prestigious level! You're the savior of APW from all of the maniacs like myself.
Of course you are.
That is until I pull your strings and show the world just how pretty you can dance.
You don't like losing control of yourself and the situation, do you mein freund? How much did you hate yourself for bending to the will of the fans at Overdrive when they were cheering for you to accept my challenge? Christ, that must have really burned you up inside. I could see it in your eyes that night, you knew exactly what was best for you. You wanted so badly to just fight me with no championship on the line and hope that I get myself disqualified so that you can scurry away like the vermin you are and fight another day with your shiny shield across your shoulder. You knew getting into a match against me with that belt on the line was the worst possible scenario for you because you've seen how depraved I can be when I'm after something I want. You wisely wanted no part of that.
Those fans though.
Those damn fans.
They cheered for their hero, didn't they? They applauded and goaded you on and backed you into a corner. They demanded that their artificial hero take out that German freak once and for all. How can the amazing Mark Mania turn down a challenge from the wicked Azrael Goeren? After all, not a day has gone by since you won the Overdrive Title at One Night In Hell where you haven't told us how great you are. You're the man that restored honor and integrity back to the belt, isn't that what you said? How could you not easily beat a disrespectful deviant when you're apparently the best thing to happen to the Overdrive belt since sliced bread and backseat handjobs?
Those damn fans.
They never let up, did they? They never gave you a way to get out of that ring with your charade intact. If you walked away, that would have exposed the real Mark Mania to the world and we certainly can't have that now, can we? Might hurt your stock options. The world would have seen the cowardly, underhanded man you truly are and not the shining white knight you've built your public image up to be if you refused me.
So, against your better judgment, you didn't refuse to put the title on the line.
You behaved exactly the way I predicted you would, you really did play your part perfectly.
Bravo sir.
However your next move surprised even me. In some vain attempt to save face after your waffling, you decide to make this a no disqualification match. Dear me, that one definitely shocked me. Why would anyone in their right mind want to purposely throw the rule books out the window in a match against yours truly?
Do you have any idea what I'm capable of, Herr Mania? I hope that you truly do and don't actually believe the gibberish doublespeak you spew every week where you try to portray me as some worthless bum who doesn't deserve to share the same hallowed ring space as the mighty Mark Mania. Save those inane ramblings for your official press releases and morning affirmations. We are both well aware of our storied careers so trying to say I don't deserve to be in the ring with you just makes you appear sad and out of touch with reality.
No disqualification matches are MY matches, they are my children. They are the beautiful means of seeing red, losing control and not being reprimanded for it. You remember what happened during our first match, ja? You won it of course...but by disqualification because I only wanted to cause you pain and see how far I could push you before you broke. I remember every savory moment of that match, every scream that escaped your lips and the orgasmic sounds of your fingernails desperately scraping the ring mat to escape my cloverleaf.
A more beautiful symphony of pain and anguish could not have been produced. You were saved from being crippled that night by the rules of APW...a set of rules you willingly tossed aside at Christmas Chaos just to get your sheep fans to chant your name and feed your disgusting ego. I have to admit, Herr Mania...in all of my years of competing in this country I have never seen a more delusional man in all my life. You not only placed the proverbial noose around your own neck but you jumped off the stool with gusto. That is either the sign of an incredibly brave man or an incredibly foolish one. Based on everything you've babbled on about me since winning that title, I would venture to guess the latter is more accurate.
I know what you are capable of, Herr Mania. I'm not going into this match thinking that I'm going to tear through you like construction paper. Nothing can be further from the truth. I am more than aware of your past accomplishments and what you can do to me. When you strip down this faux-image you made for yourself there is still an immensely talented and tough competitor hiding underneath that I would never take lightly. I, unlike you, respect what my opponent is capable of and have made plans accordingly. I just know that this train wreck that is about to occur will be like nothing you've ever encountered in your entire career. Men like you think they've seen it all in the wrestling world and I have no doubt you've been through wars in the past...but I can assure you that nothing has prepared you for the depravity I bring into these matches.
My body tells the story of my history in matches with no rules.
My right bicep is riddled with jigsaw scars from being torn open by broken glass. My left leg contains black bruises that never healed after I fell from a scaffold. My right wrist juts out at an angle because of a broken bone that was never set properly and I have scar tissue across a majority of my lower back after rolling in fire during an Inferno match.
Would you like to know something truly horrifying though, Herr Mania?
I won all of those matches.
Imagine how my opponent looked after each one. Better yet, simply wait until Christmas Eve and look in a fucking mirror to see for yourself. Or try to look, depending on if I decide to leave your eyesight intact.
I want you to know that despite your disrespect towards me throughout our entire ordeal, there is no hatred on my part towards you so I don't want you to expect any vindictive attacks before Christmas Chaos. I'm saving the entire bag of presents for our match and I truly hope you understand that I'm doing this for your own good.
The things that you do each and every week, parading yourself like a prized poodle and pretending to be a man of the people is absolutely shameful. You want so badly for the world to view you as a champion's champion that you've built up this aura around your name that you cannot possible live up to. A real champion does not run away from his challengers. A real champion does not abandon his tag-team partner during a match, regardless of who it is. A real champion does not sneakily attack an opponent when he's being distracted.
Let’s be honest, Herr Mania...you've done more damage to the credibility of the Overdrive Title with your actions than Delikado ever did. Privately you are everything that you publicly say you hate. A two-faced Janus. Brave in the spotlight. Cowering in the shadows.
I have never lied about the man I am. When I take the Overdrive Title from you at Christmas Chaos, APW will be absolutely horrified by the things that I will do as champion. If that title belt was ever sullied before, it will pale in comparison to the excrement I drag it through as its proud holder.
APW will be appalled by me at first...then they'll start to adapt. To change. To learn.
My beautiful APW will see that I am simply the forbearer of change. As Overdrive Champion, you have stagnated the growth of my APW by pretending to be something you are not. You cast judgment upon men like me from your office building, acting like a modern-day King Solomon and pretending that you still have your finger on the pulse of this business. You are so completely out of touch with what wrestling is devolving into its almost shocking.
I am a man of the people.
I am everything that is wrong with wrestling today but in the future I'll be everything that is right with it. Any sane man can look at the world today and realize that humanity is spiritually sick and morally destitute. Watch trash television for an hour or simply scan the internet for a day and you'll see how far you have all fallen.
I was always at that level, now the rest of you are joining the party. Our fans will grow and grow when they see what horrors I bring upon APW and the sleaze that infests every pore of it. I will make APW into something wonderful that will spearhead the filth movement and solidify this company for decades to come. We'll be ahead of the curve, thanks to me...and it all starts when I tear that Overdrive Title away from your mangled body at Christmas Chaos.
You should be proud. You will help me give birth to a new era of professional wrestling. Not a clichéd expression simply used to describe an individual's championship reign, but encompassing an entire movement that will turn APW into the premier cesspool for debauchery and unparalleled violence.
This will be your lasting legacy to the sport, Herr Mania. I thank you for following along so obediently up until now. My only regret is that I fear you are too far deluded to save. You refuse to leave the safety and security of your lies and therefore will have to be baptized into my vision of APW by blood and broken bones at Christmas Chaos.
You shouldn't fear this experience, Herr Mania.
After all...you brought it on yourself.
With that, Azrael grabs hold of his coffee and takes a very slow and deliberate sip. His eyes never cease staring directly forward, that twisted smile curling across his face once more. He sets the coffee cup down and folds his hands politely on the table before the camera slowly fades to black.
***********************************
