Post by Dr. Matt on Oct 2, 2008 23:41:10 GMT -4
We open in the Doctor's Office. Dr. Matt is lying on his couch, with his feet up on the coffee table. He's got a glass of Scotch on the rocks in one hand and a big fat Cuban cigar in the other. He is smiling from ear to ear.
Dr. Matt: That, my friends, was too fucking easy. I mean, why - why - would I ever waste my time actually fighting John Green? Seriously. Sure, it would've been satisfying to thoroughly breaking every single bone in his body, but it would've been such a waste of energy. That dickhead is heavy. I mean, he hasn't hit the gym in weeks. He didn't prepare one way or another for the match. Hell, he didn't even seem like he knew where he was or what he was doing. I set up that whole little light show early, and wasn't really planning to use it, but once I saw that dumbfuck walk down to the ring, I gave my signal to my man in the back and I Mattisfied the shit out of Green.
The Doc takes a sip from his scotch.
Dr. Matt: But, what I don't understand is that I defeated John Green - maybe I didn't destroy him, but that kind of loss has to be defeating - yet, when I look at the upcoming card for Overdrive, Greenie and I are in the same boat. Both of us are in qualifying matches for the One Night in Hell Elimination Chamber match. What in the blue fuck has John Green done to earn himself a qualifying match? He hasn't won a god-damn match since June, and he could potentially get a 1 in 6 shot at the World Heavyweight Title? I mean, what if he's the last guy into the match, and all the rest of us have spent the last 20 minutes killing each other, and everyone's out cold, and Green just waltzes in and pins everyone? Stranger things have happened, my friends.
Matt takes a big drag off his cigar. He continues to speak as smoke billows from his mouth.
Dr. Matt: Hopefully - hopefully - Jason Ricochet doesn't fuck this up. Fingers crossed on this one. But, then again, it'd be fun to see Green in the Chamber. I mean, it'd be really fun to just throw him around a steel enclosure that he can't get out of.
Frank the Cameraman (from behind the camera): You haven't qualified for the match yet, you know.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, but who am I facing? Some chick who's literally the size of my left thigh? Come on. Come the fuck on? What is she going do to me? Really? Is she going to jump off the top rope, spin around a couple times, and then land on my nuts? Ha. Spare me. I've had guys three times your size jump off high ass shit and use me to break their falls and I still pulled out the W. I've got stamina, endurance, and I can take a helluva lot of abuse. I mean, her finishing maneuver is less effective then having a barbell slip out of your hands while doing bench presses, and when you work out drunk, shit like that happens all the time. So, unless she gains like 200 pounds by Monday, I don't have to worry.
Another sip and another puff.
Dr. Matt: And better yet, what if she tries to pick me up? Does she really think she can Powerbomb me? Even if she gets me up there, she just doesn't have enough power in her frame to actually make any sort of move like that effective. It's just basic fucking science. Listen, unless you've been taking some sort of secret mystical kung fu lessons that teach you how to center your chi or what-the-fuck-ever and use your fists as some sort of super conductors, you just cannot hurt me. Plain and simple.
Dr. Matt sits up and leans toward the camera.
Dr. Matt: Seriously, Arcadia, Player One, whatever the fuck you call yourself; I'm no Jason Ricochet or Jake Ruby, alright? I'm Dr. Matt. I'm so god-damned fried out that my brain just doesn't process pain anymore. I've been in this game long before some poor kid in China stitched together that mask you cover your face with. Being in the ring is my second nature. Everything I do, I do on instinct. You think you've seen Hardcore? Fuck, just wait until you finally see Hardcore as Hell up close and in person.
Dr. Matt continues to talk with the cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth.
Dr. Matt: I don't give two shits if you were taught by the Blackwells. Man, motherfuck the Blackwells. Those people reproduce like cock roaches. Sex & Violence? Church of Kaos? There was a reason I didn't show my face on camera during that feud. It wasn't because I was scared of them. I just didn't want to fucking bother. I'll never figure out who fucked who or who's aligned with who. Seriously, I had an easier time with "War & Peace", and I read that shit in its original Russian. In my eyes, you're just another part of the fray. I'd say you were just another face in the endless sea of freaks, but, well, we can all see where I'm going with this.
Dr. Matt sets down his glass of scotch and scratches his head.
Dr. Matt: Like, seriously, what's with the mask? I've never understood that whole... scene. Like, do you ever take that thing off? I mean, how many times have you been denied a bank loan because you wore your mask to the meeting? And, like, do you ever wash it? Because I can't imagine what the fuck does it smells like... maybe dirty hair and tacos? Gross.
Shudders from the Doc.
Dr. Matt: You know what, though, I'll show you just the slightest amount of respect by not playing the slut card. Back in the day, I made the automatic assumption that any woman in this industry had to be some kind of whore; despite the fact that I have venereal diseases that have their own venereal diseases. I vaguely remember at one point trying to introduce a Women's championship to a company by offering it to the first woman who'd offer to come down to the ring and give me head. But, alas, those days are over. While I am intrigued by the mask, and frankly, given the chance, I'd just wreck you in bed; I'm starting to realize it's very unprofessional to be sexually attracted to your opponent. I mean, Christ, look how badly John Green performed at Aftershock. You just gotta seperate business from pleasure.
Another drag from the cigar.
Dr. Matt: That being said, nothing about Overdrive will be pleasurable. In fact, unless you're into weird masochistic shit, this could very well be the worst night of your life. You portray yourself as one of those "Don't treat me like a chick" chicks. You want me to bring my a-game? You want me to fight you like I'm fighting some 280 pound, sweaty, hairy man? So fucking be it. Expect to get your ass thrown from one side of the ring to the other. Expect to taste your own blood, sweat, and teeth because as far as I'm concerned, that X on your mask is just a fucking bull's-eye. I'll fucking snap you in half with the Doctor's Orders. I'll put you through the G-d damn ring with a Mattisfaction.
Dr. Matt has flicked away his cigar and he's staring right into the camera.
Dr. Matt: I never came back to win titles or any shit like that, but when an opportunity like it arises, I ain't throwing it away. Fact of the matter is that I will be in the Elimination Chamber. I know deep down in your heart of hearts you truly believe that you can beat me and get to take part in the biggest match in APW history. Unfortunately, you are just suffering delusions of grandeur. You can't beat me, plain and simple. I'm Hardcore as Hell. I'm the Ph. D in Pain. Hell, I've forgotten more about this industry then you could ever hope to learn. I'm a different breed of competitor. Trust me, you've never seen anything like me before. You're going to learn more in 5 minutes in the ring with me than you have ever learned from Trevor Blackwell. So, don't look at this defeat as a loss. No, you're going to witness first hand the kind of talent that can't be taught. Don't thank me, though. This is more for my benefit then yours. Monday Night will be a night you'll never forget. Yokohama's going to see Mattisfaction like no city has ever seen before. I'm going straight to the Chamber, and One Hundred Percent Mattisfaction is Guaren-fucking-teed.
Dr. Matt picks up his glass of scotch and finishes off what remains. He smiles into the camera one last time.
Dr. Matt: Sayonara, bitch!
Fade to Black.
Dr. Matt: That, my friends, was too fucking easy. I mean, why - why - would I ever waste my time actually fighting John Green? Seriously. Sure, it would've been satisfying to thoroughly breaking every single bone in his body, but it would've been such a waste of energy. That dickhead is heavy. I mean, he hasn't hit the gym in weeks. He didn't prepare one way or another for the match. Hell, he didn't even seem like he knew where he was or what he was doing. I set up that whole little light show early, and wasn't really planning to use it, but once I saw that dumbfuck walk down to the ring, I gave my signal to my man in the back and I Mattisfied the shit out of Green.
The Doc takes a sip from his scotch.
Dr. Matt: But, what I don't understand is that I defeated John Green - maybe I didn't destroy him, but that kind of loss has to be defeating - yet, when I look at the upcoming card for Overdrive, Greenie and I are in the same boat. Both of us are in qualifying matches for the One Night in Hell Elimination Chamber match. What in the blue fuck has John Green done to earn himself a qualifying match? He hasn't won a god-damn match since June, and he could potentially get a 1 in 6 shot at the World Heavyweight Title? I mean, what if he's the last guy into the match, and all the rest of us have spent the last 20 minutes killing each other, and everyone's out cold, and Green just waltzes in and pins everyone? Stranger things have happened, my friends.
Matt takes a big drag off his cigar. He continues to speak as smoke billows from his mouth.
Dr. Matt: Hopefully - hopefully - Jason Ricochet doesn't fuck this up. Fingers crossed on this one. But, then again, it'd be fun to see Green in the Chamber. I mean, it'd be really fun to just throw him around a steel enclosure that he can't get out of.
Frank the Cameraman (from behind the camera): You haven't qualified for the match yet, you know.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, but who am I facing? Some chick who's literally the size of my left thigh? Come on. Come the fuck on? What is she going do to me? Really? Is she going to jump off the top rope, spin around a couple times, and then land on my nuts? Ha. Spare me. I've had guys three times your size jump off high ass shit and use me to break their falls and I still pulled out the W. I've got stamina, endurance, and I can take a helluva lot of abuse. I mean, her finishing maneuver is less effective then having a barbell slip out of your hands while doing bench presses, and when you work out drunk, shit like that happens all the time. So, unless she gains like 200 pounds by Monday, I don't have to worry.
Another sip and another puff.
Dr. Matt: And better yet, what if she tries to pick me up? Does she really think she can Powerbomb me? Even if she gets me up there, she just doesn't have enough power in her frame to actually make any sort of move like that effective. It's just basic fucking science. Listen, unless you've been taking some sort of secret mystical kung fu lessons that teach you how to center your chi or what-the-fuck-ever and use your fists as some sort of super conductors, you just cannot hurt me. Plain and simple.
Dr. Matt sits up and leans toward the camera.
Dr. Matt: Seriously, Arcadia, Player One, whatever the fuck you call yourself; I'm no Jason Ricochet or Jake Ruby, alright? I'm Dr. Matt. I'm so god-damned fried out that my brain just doesn't process pain anymore. I've been in this game long before some poor kid in China stitched together that mask you cover your face with. Being in the ring is my second nature. Everything I do, I do on instinct. You think you've seen Hardcore? Fuck, just wait until you finally see Hardcore as Hell up close and in person.
Dr. Matt continues to talk with the cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth.
Dr. Matt: I don't give two shits if you were taught by the Blackwells. Man, motherfuck the Blackwells. Those people reproduce like cock roaches. Sex & Violence? Church of Kaos? There was a reason I didn't show my face on camera during that feud. It wasn't because I was scared of them. I just didn't want to fucking bother. I'll never figure out who fucked who or who's aligned with who. Seriously, I had an easier time with "War & Peace", and I read that shit in its original Russian. In my eyes, you're just another part of the fray. I'd say you were just another face in the endless sea of freaks, but, well, we can all see where I'm going with this.
Dr. Matt sets down his glass of scotch and scratches his head.
Dr. Matt: Like, seriously, what's with the mask? I've never understood that whole... scene. Like, do you ever take that thing off? I mean, how many times have you been denied a bank loan because you wore your mask to the meeting? And, like, do you ever wash it? Because I can't imagine what the fuck does it smells like... maybe dirty hair and tacos? Gross.
Shudders from the Doc.
Dr. Matt: You know what, though, I'll show you just the slightest amount of respect by not playing the slut card. Back in the day, I made the automatic assumption that any woman in this industry had to be some kind of whore; despite the fact that I have venereal diseases that have their own venereal diseases. I vaguely remember at one point trying to introduce a Women's championship to a company by offering it to the first woman who'd offer to come down to the ring and give me head. But, alas, those days are over. While I am intrigued by the mask, and frankly, given the chance, I'd just wreck you in bed; I'm starting to realize it's very unprofessional to be sexually attracted to your opponent. I mean, Christ, look how badly John Green performed at Aftershock. You just gotta seperate business from pleasure.
Another drag from the cigar.
Dr. Matt: That being said, nothing about Overdrive will be pleasurable. In fact, unless you're into weird masochistic shit, this could very well be the worst night of your life. You portray yourself as one of those "Don't treat me like a chick" chicks. You want me to bring my a-game? You want me to fight you like I'm fighting some 280 pound, sweaty, hairy man? So fucking be it. Expect to get your ass thrown from one side of the ring to the other. Expect to taste your own blood, sweat, and teeth because as far as I'm concerned, that X on your mask is just a fucking bull's-eye. I'll fucking snap you in half with the Doctor's Orders. I'll put you through the G-d damn ring with a Mattisfaction.
Dr. Matt has flicked away his cigar and he's staring right into the camera.
Dr. Matt: I never came back to win titles or any shit like that, but when an opportunity like it arises, I ain't throwing it away. Fact of the matter is that I will be in the Elimination Chamber. I know deep down in your heart of hearts you truly believe that you can beat me and get to take part in the biggest match in APW history. Unfortunately, you are just suffering delusions of grandeur. You can't beat me, plain and simple. I'm Hardcore as Hell. I'm the Ph. D in Pain. Hell, I've forgotten more about this industry then you could ever hope to learn. I'm a different breed of competitor. Trust me, you've never seen anything like me before. You're going to learn more in 5 minutes in the ring with me than you have ever learned from Trevor Blackwell. So, don't look at this defeat as a loss. No, you're going to witness first hand the kind of talent that can't be taught. Don't thank me, though. This is more for my benefit then yours. Monday Night will be a night you'll never forget. Yokohama's going to see Mattisfaction like no city has ever seen before. I'm going straight to the Chamber, and One Hundred Percent Mattisfaction is Guaren-fucking-teed.
Dr. Matt picks up his glass of scotch and finishes off what remains. He smiles into the camera one last time.
Dr. Matt: Sayonara, bitch!
Fade to Black.
