Post by Dr. Matt on Feb 20, 2009 1:36:07 GMT -4
It's January 26th, the morning after New Year's Retribution. Dr. Matt is in the office of his accountant, David Jewman. Jewman clacks away on his laptop, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. Dr. Matt sits across from him at the desk, leaning back, with his arms crossed behind his head and puffing away on a fat cigar.
Jewman: Is it necessary for you to smoke that in here. I have allergies.
Dr. Matt: Just hurry up and tell me how much money I have in my RRSP so I can decide which Caribbean Island to retire to.
Jewman: You don't seem that broken up at all about getting fired.
Dr. Matt leans forward and smiles. He rubs his neck, and a slight wince comes across his face as his vertebrae never have fully healed.
Dr. Matt: Oh, if you saw me 12 hours ago, Dave, it'd be a different story. I was livid when Link dumped me. But, then, as I sat in the locker room, slowly peeling the tape from my hands, I thought that maybe it was time to hang up the boots. I'm 22 but look like I'm 45. I've been doing this since before I had hair on my balls. I need to get on with my life. I'm going to go find some beach somewhere and just chill for a couple years. Maybe work at a little bar next to the surf. Sit around the fire at night and strum an old acoustic guitar. I'm telling you, it'll be nice to get away and heal my body.
David Jewman doesn't look up from his laptop. His typing seems to slow, almost as if he doesn't want to get the information he's looking for.
Dr. Matt: What's taking so long, Dave. I know I've got a shit ton of money in my RRSP. I've been putting away 75% of my earnings for the past 6 years in an aggressive continuum. I know it hasn't built much interest, but I still put a lot in there. At least a couple million.
Jewman: Yes, but you are aware we are in a recession, correct? That all the stocks that you put your money into are virtually worthless.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, but even if they're worth pennies each, I figure I still should have a hundred grand or so. That should be enough to live on down south.
David Jewman types a few more things, then clicks enter. He gulps, and then shakes his head.
Jewman: Forty-nine fifty.
Dr. Matt: Hmm?
Jewman: You have forty-nine dollars and fifty cents.
Dr. Matt: WHAT?
Dr. Matt grabs the laptop and spins it around, and stares blankly at the screen.
Dr. Matt: What the fuck happened?
Jewman: I could explain it to you, but I charge $99 an hour, and you've been here 29 minutes and 45 seconds. So, I suggest that if you don't want to go into debt, you best leave my office immediately.
Dr. Matt's jaw drops. David Jewman motions with his hand for Dr. Matt to scurry off. Dr. Matt slowly gets to his feet and slinks out of the office.
======
February 2nd, Dr. Matt is leaning back in a recliner, drinking a beer. He looks depressed. He lazily flips through channels on the TV. Superbowl highlights, Gossip Girl, Nancy Grace crying about a white girl. Dr. Matt stops for a moment as Level One takes a seat at the announcer's booth to commentate on a match between John Green and Jamal Jackson. Dr. Matt rolls his eyes, before turning off the TV. He downs his beer, and sets the bottle next to him. He looks around for a moment, then leans his head back.
Dr. Matt: Mom! Get me another beer!
A older woman's voice can be heard from the next room.
Dr. Mom: I'll get you a beer when you start paying rent.
Dr. Matt mutters under his breath.
Dr. Matt: Lazy bitch.
Dr. Mom: I heard that! Go take out the garbage.
Dr. Matt grumbles and puts down the leg rest of his recliner. He starts to get up when the phone rings. Dr. Matt picks a cordless up off its cradle.
Dr. Matt: Yellow.
A familiar voice can be heard across the line.
Max Carter: Matt. How's it going, buddy?
Dr. Matt: Fuck you, that's how it's going.
Max Carter: So I hear you moved back in with your parents.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, and I hear you like to blow goats for quarters. What the fuck do you want?
Max Carter: Hey, listen. I'm calling to make amends. I've got a bit of a problem and I think you can help.
Dr. Matt: If you wanted my help, you shouldn't have fired me.
Max Carter: Yeah, in retrospect, I may have acted a little irrationally, but I just needed to establish dominance. You know, show the troops that you can't mess with me.
Dr. Matt: You picked a bad person to make an example out of.
Max Carter: Whatever. Anyways, you want to here my proposal or not.
Dr. Matt: Not really.
Max Carter: Come on, I'm giving you the chance to take on Trevor Blackwell again, and Jason Royce to boot.
Dr. Matt: I'm listening.
Max Carter: At Carnage, War Games match. Pure Innovation against my Hired Gunz.
Dr. Matt: Those are the two worse names ever.
Max Carter: Anyways, you'd be working with Lively, Twist, and THK. It's practically a guaranteed win.
Dr. Matt: Well, I'm not so sure.
Max Carter: Think about it, you can be the 4th member of Hired Gunz. We need one more person for the War Games match at Carnage and it can be you. We’ll think about it. But I know you’ll make the right decision.
Dr. Matt: Huh? Why did you just repeat the jist of our whole conversation.
Max Carter: Sorry, a cameraman showed up. Had to give him something juicy. The bait is hooked, Matt. The ball's in your court. I'll give you two weeks to decide. Be at the Overdrive in Des Moines to make it official.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, well, we'll see. I've got a few things lined up.
Max Carter: Like what, you gonna whore yourself up or something?
Dr. Matt: No. Shut up.
Max Carter: Two weeks, Doc. And if you manage not to screw this up, maybe I can find a spot for you at RassleMania. Anyways, I gotta run. I'll see you in Des Moines.
Max Carter hangs up the phone, and Dr. Matt is left sitting there to think about the offer.
==============
February 14th. Valentine's Day. Dr. Matt is standing on a street corner, wearing a pair of short-shorts, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat. And nothing else. And this is the middle of winter in Canada. He's shivering, but seems to be in high spirits.
An older woman in a fur coat walks past him and stops at the curb, waiting for a walk light.
Dr. Matt: Hey honey, nobody wants to be alone on Valentine's Day. I'll keep you company.
Woman: Get away from me, whore.
Dr. Matt, who apparently hasn't just turned to prostitution, makes a new offer.
Dr. Matt: Wanna buy some weed?
Woman: How much?
Dr. Matt takes the cowboy hat off and holds it out in front of her. It's full of drugs.
Dr. Matt: Five hundred for the whole hat.
Woman: Got any coke?
Dr. Matt: I did, but a cafeteria lunch lady offered me an extra 50 bucks for it to do a line off my cock. So, uh, fresh out.
Woman: Ugh. Just the pot then? Fine, I'll give you 350.
Dr. Matt: Are you kidding me? I had to disgusting things to steal this weed. I slept with a 400 pound, toothless, unclean mother of a drug dealer, and I had to bone her so hard that she would not only make enough noise that her son would leave the house, but also so she would fall asleep afterward so I could steal the weed. 350 won't even cover the vaccinations I so sorely need.
Woman: This is really more information than I ever need to know. I'll give you 375.
Dr. Matt stares blankly at her. His eyes gaze over her shoulder for a moment, and he sees that he is standing across the street from a Greyhound Bus Lines terminal. The woman starts to dig into her purse for the money, while Dr. Matt nods his head, realizing what he has to do.
Dr. Matt: Buy me a bus ticket to Des Moines and we'll call it a deal.
=============
February 16th, Des Moines. Dr. Matt rushes into the Iowa Events Center. He runs through the hallways, and bumps into Max Carter, who's watching the Overdrive Main Event unfolding on a monitor.
Max Carter: Where the hell have you been!
Dr. Matt: You gave me the wrong directions to the arena when we just spoke on the phone. I wound up having to get a ride from a creepy old guy who wouldn't stop licking his lips the whole time I was in his car.
Max Carter: Whatever. Get the hell out there and stir the pot a little!
Dr. Matt runs off as Carter turns back to the monitor. A few seconds later, Dr. Matt runs back.
Dr. Matt: Which way do I go?
Max Carter: Go that way, make your way through the crowd and jump the railing. Good sneak entrance.
Dr. Matt nods and takes off again. Moments later, he returns.
Dr. Matt: What's going on out there. There's like 15 guys out there.
Max Carter: Lumberjack match. Just go take out Carl Cage. You do know who Carl Cage is, right?
Dr. Matt: Of course I do. Do you think I'm retarded or something?
Dr. Matt runs off again. Max Carter turns his attention to the monitor, only to see Carl Cage cover the Hardcore Kid. He screams out, but Hardcore Kid kicks out. Max Carter clutches his heart and exhales deeply, as Dr. Matt runs in again.
Dr. Matt: Security won't let me through without a ticket!
Max Carter starts cursing under his breath. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a black, wool-knit mask and jams it over Dr. Matt's head.
Max Carter: Rush the damn guard, sprint to that god damn ring, and take Carl Cage out or you'll be back to banging drug dealers mom's in the back of their double wide trailers before tomorrow morning!
Dr. Matt: How'd you hear about that?
Max Carter: GET TO THE RING!
Dr. Matt takes off again, and Max Carter watches on as Dr. Matt costs Carl Cage the match.
=========
Down in the ring, the cameras stop rolling as bodies are flying everywhere. Dr. Matt takes a step back from the fighting, not really aware of what's going on. He looks around, and quickly notices that Trevor Blackwell is nowhere to be seen. Dr. Matt gets out of the ring. He dodges a clothesline from Carl Cage, who then eats a drop kick from Lively. Dr. Matt walks away from the brawl and walks over to a fan in the front row.
Dr. Matt: Trevor not here tonight?
The Fan: Blackwell? He quit!
Dr. Matt: Huh? I thought I was coming back to help take out Blackwell.
The Fan: I guess that was the original plan, but now the Hired Gunz are taking on Royce, Carl Cage, Streets Wilson, and Rick Stevens.
Dr. Matt just stares blankly at the fan for a moment, before he starts cursing and stopping his feet. The fans, and the rest of the wrestlers, believe Dr. Matt is just working himself up into a frenzy before going apeshit all over everybody, and they all subtly move away from him. Dr. Matt storms off up the ramp, as security guards rush past him to try to break up the fighting.
==========
Today. Dr. Matt sits across a table from Shane West.
Dr. Matt: What the hell happened to Cindy Shannon?
Shane West: Uh, she's busy with the better... er, I mean, the, uh, other superstars.
Dr. Matt: Right. So, you wanted a sit down interview, you're getting it.
Shane West: Right. So, it's been a month since we've seen you last. How you been keeping busy?
Dr. Matt: Well, I'd rather not talk about it.
Shane West: Right. Drug dealing and prostitution?
Dr. Matt nods his head.
Dr. Matt: Motherfuck the recession.
Shane West: Indeed. So, you're back. Seemingly for one night only. How much of an impact do you think you'll make in the War Games match?
Dr. Matt: I hope it's a big one, because I've put a 100 G's on the Hired Gunz to win, and if we don't pull through, I'm going to get my legs broken by some real hired guns.
Shane West: Big stakes, I guess. Not entirely sure if that's entirely legal, though.
Dr. Matt: I've stopped abiding by the law years ago, East.
Shane West: It's West, actually.
Dr. Matt: Whatever you say, Shawn.
Shane West: Moving on. You're facing the Tag Team Champions and Pure Innovation. I hear you were a little disappointed that you wouldn't get the chance to mix it up with Trevor Blackwell again.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, you could say that. But, I mean, at this point, I just really need the money.
Shane West: I guess Hired Gun is a pretty apt name.
Shane West laughs at his lame joke, and Dr. Matt just sighs loudly.
Dr. Matt: Listen. I'm really tired. I've got a nasty cold which may be related to having lots of unprotected sex. Let's just run down this list of competitors and get it over with.
Shane West: Uh... okay?
Dr. Matt: What we have assembled here are the four most blandest, most boring personalities ever herded into one... assemble. First of all, I hear Carl Cage is going to rehab and may not even show up. What a pussy. Rehab is for quitters. I'm not being fucking cute or trying to make puns either. Face it, if you can't handle the booze or the grass or the pills, you shouldn't fucking take 'em in the first place. Useless piece of shit.
But, then again, the guy's notorious for making poor choices. After all, he chose - CHOSE - to be Jason Royce's tag team partner. If anybody needs to be institutionalized, it should be this mongoloid. I hear Iceman is calling himself the Legacy now. I didn't think anything could be worse than naming yourself after a Val fucking Kilmer character, but does he even know what "Legacy" means. A legacy is wealth or possessions or titles handed down from one generation to another. So, essentially, he's Jason "The Inheritance" Royce. This name would make sense if, say, Jason Royce's father was a popular wrestler with a successful career. Hell, even if Royce descended from a wealthy family or something; I could get that. But, instead, moron fucking heard the word on television and thought it sounded cool with his name. The only legacy Jason Royce received is a set of identical genes.
Shane West: Huh?
Dr. Matt: I'm implying that Jason's parents were siblings, or, at the least, cousins.
Shane West: Oh.
Dr. Matt: Now, even worse than those two freakshows is Streets Wilson and Rick Stevens. Two men so boring, so fucking uninspired that the best tag team name they could come up with was "Streets Wilson and Rick Stevens". I swear to fucking god, I have nothing to say about these two because they are so fucking vanilla that any insult I try to come up with is nothing more than "you guys suck and I'm better"; which, coincidentally, would be more interesting than anything the two of them have every said. But, fuck, not only are they going to be sucking all the energy out of everyone in the Twin Cities, but they aren't even going to be at full strength because they have to go through Retribution Inc. earlier in the night. Christ almighty, I can already imagine how much of a letdown this main event will be. Hell, I might even start a Boring chant just to keep myself awake.
Shane West: Harsh words from a guy who hasn't won a match in nearly 3 months.
Dr. Matt: Whatever. To be honest, this is going to be the most one-sided than that time Earnest Hemingway boxed Oscar Wilde.
Shane West: Uh, I don't think that happened. In fact, I'm pretty sure Wilde died when Hemingway would've been an infant.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, and Oscar Wilde pounded the shit out of him.
Shane West: Uh...
Dr. Matt: Wait, maybe that didn't happen. Sometimes the drugs just form new memories. For years I thought that when Darth Vader pulled his mask off at the end of Return of the Jedi, it was actually Chewbacca underneath.
Shane West: Maybe you should consider rehab.
Dr. Matt: Maybe you should shut the fuck up.
Shane West: Right. Well, I've had enough of this.
Shane West gets up and walks away.
Dr. Matt: Right. Well, to close, suck it, bitches, Dr. Matt is back and 100% Mattisfaction is Guaranteed; because, if I get fired again, I can't go back to the streets.
We fade to black with Dr. Matt shuddering at his memories from the past month.
Jewman: Is it necessary for you to smoke that in here. I have allergies.
Dr. Matt: Just hurry up and tell me how much money I have in my RRSP so I can decide which Caribbean Island to retire to.
Jewman: You don't seem that broken up at all about getting fired.
Dr. Matt leans forward and smiles. He rubs his neck, and a slight wince comes across his face as his vertebrae never have fully healed.
Dr. Matt: Oh, if you saw me 12 hours ago, Dave, it'd be a different story. I was livid when Link dumped me. But, then, as I sat in the locker room, slowly peeling the tape from my hands, I thought that maybe it was time to hang up the boots. I'm 22 but look like I'm 45. I've been doing this since before I had hair on my balls. I need to get on with my life. I'm going to go find some beach somewhere and just chill for a couple years. Maybe work at a little bar next to the surf. Sit around the fire at night and strum an old acoustic guitar. I'm telling you, it'll be nice to get away and heal my body.
David Jewman doesn't look up from his laptop. His typing seems to slow, almost as if he doesn't want to get the information he's looking for.
Dr. Matt: What's taking so long, Dave. I know I've got a shit ton of money in my RRSP. I've been putting away 75% of my earnings for the past 6 years in an aggressive continuum. I know it hasn't built much interest, but I still put a lot in there. At least a couple million.
Jewman: Yes, but you are aware we are in a recession, correct? That all the stocks that you put your money into are virtually worthless.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, but even if they're worth pennies each, I figure I still should have a hundred grand or so. That should be enough to live on down south.
David Jewman types a few more things, then clicks enter. He gulps, and then shakes his head.
Jewman: Forty-nine fifty.
Dr. Matt: Hmm?
Jewman: You have forty-nine dollars and fifty cents.
Dr. Matt: WHAT?
Dr. Matt grabs the laptop and spins it around, and stares blankly at the screen.
Dr. Matt: What the fuck happened?
Jewman: I could explain it to you, but I charge $99 an hour, and you've been here 29 minutes and 45 seconds. So, I suggest that if you don't want to go into debt, you best leave my office immediately.
Dr. Matt's jaw drops. David Jewman motions with his hand for Dr. Matt to scurry off. Dr. Matt slowly gets to his feet and slinks out of the office.
======
February 2nd, Dr. Matt is leaning back in a recliner, drinking a beer. He looks depressed. He lazily flips through channels on the TV. Superbowl highlights, Gossip Girl, Nancy Grace crying about a white girl. Dr. Matt stops for a moment as Level One takes a seat at the announcer's booth to commentate on a match between John Green and Jamal Jackson. Dr. Matt rolls his eyes, before turning off the TV. He downs his beer, and sets the bottle next to him. He looks around for a moment, then leans his head back.
Dr. Matt: Mom! Get me another beer!
A older woman's voice can be heard from the next room.
Dr. Mom: I'll get you a beer when you start paying rent.
Dr. Matt mutters under his breath.
Dr. Matt: Lazy bitch.
Dr. Mom: I heard that! Go take out the garbage.
Dr. Matt grumbles and puts down the leg rest of his recliner. He starts to get up when the phone rings. Dr. Matt picks a cordless up off its cradle.
Dr. Matt: Yellow.
A familiar voice can be heard across the line.
Max Carter: Matt. How's it going, buddy?
Dr. Matt: Fuck you, that's how it's going.
Max Carter: So I hear you moved back in with your parents.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, and I hear you like to blow goats for quarters. What the fuck do you want?
Max Carter: Hey, listen. I'm calling to make amends. I've got a bit of a problem and I think you can help.
Dr. Matt: If you wanted my help, you shouldn't have fired me.
Max Carter: Yeah, in retrospect, I may have acted a little irrationally, but I just needed to establish dominance. You know, show the troops that you can't mess with me.
Dr. Matt: You picked a bad person to make an example out of.
Max Carter: Whatever. Anyways, you want to here my proposal or not.
Dr. Matt: Not really.
Max Carter: Come on, I'm giving you the chance to take on Trevor Blackwell again, and Jason Royce to boot.
Dr. Matt: I'm listening.
Max Carter: At Carnage, War Games match. Pure Innovation against my Hired Gunz.
Dr. Matt: Those are the two worse names ever.
Max Carter: Anyways, you'd be working with Lively, Twist, and THK. It's practically a guaranteed win.
Dr. Matt: Well, I'm not so sure.
Max Carter: Think about it, you can be the 4th member of Hired Gunz. We need one more person for the War Games match at Carnage and it can be you. We’ll think about it. But I know you’ll make the right decision.
Dr. Matt: Huh? Why did you just repeat the jist of our whole conversation.
Max Carter: Sorry, a cameraman showed up. Had to give him something juicy. The bait is hooked, Matt. The ball's in your court. I'll give you two weeks to decide. Be at the Overdrive in Des Moines to make it official.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, well, we'll see. I've got a few things lined up.
Max Carter: Like what, you gonna whore yourself up or something?
Dr. Matt: No. Shut up.
Max Carter: Two weeks, Doc. And if you manage not to screw this up, maybe I can find a spot for you at RassleMania. Anyways, I gotta run. I'll see you in Des Moines.
Max Carter hangs up the phone, and Dr. Matt is left sitting there to think about the offer.
==============
February 14th. Valentine's Day. Dr. Matt is standing on a street corner, wearing a pair of short-shorts, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat. And nothing else. And this is the middle of winter in Canada. He's shivering, but seems to be in high spirits.
An older woman in a fur coat walks past him and stops at the curb, waiting for a walk light.
Dr. Matt: Hey honey, nobody wants to be alone on Valentine's Day. I'll keep you company.
Woman: Get away from me, whore.
Dr. Matt, who apparently hasn't just turned to prostitution, makes a new offer.
Dr. Matt: Wanna buy some weed?
Woman: How much?
Dr. Matt takes the cowboy hat off and holds it out in front of her. It's full of drugs.
Dr. Matt: Five hundred for the whole hat.
Woman: Got any coke?
Dr. Matt: I did, but a cafeteria lunch lady offered me an extra 50 bucks for it to do a line off my cock. So, uh, fresh out.
Woman: Ugh. Just the pot then? Fine, I'll give you 350.
Dr. Matt: Are you kidding me? I had to disgusting things to steal this weed. I slept with a 400 pound, toothless, unclean mother of a drug dealer, and I had to bone her so hard that she would not only make enough noise that her son would leave the house, but also so she would fall asleep afterward so I could steal the weed. 350 won't even cover the vaccinations I so sorely need.
Woman: This is really more information than I ever need to know. I'll give you 375.
Dr. Matt stares blankly at her. His eyes gaze over her shoulder for a moment, and he sees that he is standing across the street from a Greyhound Bus Lines terminal. The woman starts to dig into her purse for the money, while Dr. Matt nods his head, realizing what he has to do.
Dr. Matt: Buy me a bus ticket to Des Moines and we'll call it a deal.
=============
February 16th, Des Moines. Dr. Matt rushes into the Iowa Events Center. He runs through the hallways, and bumps into Max Carter, who's watching the Overdrive Main Event unfolding on a monitor.
Max Carter: Where the hell have you been!
Dr. Matt: You gave me the wrong directions to the arena when we just spoke on the phone. I wound up having to get a ride from a creepy old guy who wouldn't stop licking his lips the whole time I was in his car.
Max Carter: Whatever. Get the hell out there and stir the pot a little!
Dr. Matt runs off as Carter turns back to the monitor. A few seconds later, Dr. Matt runs back.
Dr. Matt: Which way do I go?
Max Carter: Go that way, make your way through the crowd and jump the railing. Good sneak entrance.
Dr. Matt nods and takes off again. Moments later, he returns.
Dr. Matt: What's going on out there. There's like 15 guys out there.
Max Carter: Lumberjack match. Just go take out Carl Cage. You do know who Carl Cage is, right?
Dr. Matt: Of course I do. Do you think I'm retarded or something?
Dr. Matt runs off again. Max Carter turns his attention to the monitor, only to see Carl Cage cover the Hardcore Kid. He screams out, but Hardcore Kid kicks out. Max Carter clutches his heart and exhales deeply, as Dr. Matt runs in again.
Dr. Matt: Security won't let me through without a ticket!
Max Carter starts cursing under his breath. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a black, wool-knit mask and jams it over Dr. Matt's head.
Max Carter: Rush the damn guard, sprint to that god damn ring, and take Carl Cage out or you'll be back to banging drug dealers mom's in the back of their double wide trailers before tomorrow morning!
Dr. Matt: How'd you hear about that?
Max Carter: GET TO THE RING!
Dr. Matt takes off again, and Max Carter watches on as Dr. Matt costs Carl Cage the match.
=========
Down in the ring, the cameras stop rolling as bodies are flying everywhere. Dr. Matt takes a step back from the fighting, not really aware of what's going on. He looks around, and quickly notices that Trevor Blackwell is nowhere to be seen. Dr. Matt gets out of the ring. He dodges a clothesline from Carl Cage, who then eats a drop kick from Lively. Dr. Matt walks away from the brawl and walks over to a fan in the front row.
Dr. Matt: Trevor not here tonight?
The Fan: Blackwell? He quit!
Dr. Matt: Huh? I thought I was coming back to help take out Blackwell.
The Fan: I guess that was the original plan, but now the Hired Gunz are taking on Royce, Carl Cage, Streets Wilson, and Rick Stevens.
Dr. Matt just stares blankly at the fan for a moment, before he starts cursing and stopping his feet. The fans, and the rest of the wrestlers, believe Dr. Matt is just working himself up into a frenzy before going apeshit all over everybody, and they all subtly move away from him. Dr. Matt storms off up the ramp, as security guards rush past him to try to break up the fighting.
==========
Today. Dr. Matt sits across a table from Shane West.
Dr. Matt: What the hell happened to Cindy Shannon?
Shane West: Uh, she's busy with the better... er, I mean, the, uh, other superstars.
Dr. Matt: Right. So, you wanted a sit down interview, you're getting it.
Shane West: Right. So, it's been a month since we've seen you last. How you been keeping busy?
Dr. Matt: Well, I'd rather not talk about it.
Shane West: Right. Drug dealing and prostitution?
Dr. Matt nods his head.
Dr. Matt: Motherfuck the recession.
Shane West: Indeed. So, you're back. Seemingly for one night only. How much of an impact do you think you'll make in the War Games match?
Dr. Matt: I hope it's a big one, because I've put a 100 G's on the Hired Gunz to win, and if we don't pull through, I'm going to get my legs broken by some real hired guns.
Shane West: Big stakes, I guess. Not entirely sure if that's entirely legal, though.
Dr. Matt: I've stopped abiding by the law years ago, East.
Shane West: It's West, actually.
Dr. Matt: Whatever you say, Shawn.
Shane West: Moving on. You're facing the Tag Team Champions and Pure Innovation. I hear you were a little disappointed that you wouldn't get the chance to mix it up with Trevor Blackwell again.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, you could say that. But, I mean, at this point, I just really need the money.
Shane West: I guess Hired Gun is a pretty apt name.
Shane West laughs at his lame joke, and Dr. Matt just sighs loudly.
Dr. Matt: Listen. I'm really tired. I've got a nasty cold which may be related to having lots of unprotected sex. Let's just run down this list of competitors and get it over with.
Shane West: Uh... okay?
Dr. Matt: What we have assembled here are the four most blandest, most boring personalities ever herded into one... assemble. First of all, I hear Carl Cage is going to rehab and may not even show up. What a pussy. Rehab is for quitters. I'm not being fucking cute or trying to make puns either. Face it, if you can't handle the booze or the grass or the pills, you shouldn't fucking take 'em in the first place. Useless piece of shit.
But, then again, the guy's notorious for making poor choices. After all, he chose - CHOSE - to be Jason Royce's tag team partner. If anybody needs to be institutionalized, it should be this mongoloid. I hear Iceman is calling himself the Legacy now. I didn't think anything could be worse than naming yourself after a Val fucking Kilmer character, but does he even know what "Legacy" means. A legacy is wealth or possessions or titles handed down from one generation to another. So, essentially, he's Jason "The Inheritance" Royce. This name would make sense if, say, Jason Royce's father was a popular wrestler with a successful career. Hell, even if Royce descended from a wealthy family or something; I could get that. But, instead, moron fucking heard the word on television and thought it sounded cool with his name. The only legacy Jason Royce received is a set of identical genes.
Shane West: Huh?
Dr. Matt: I'm implying that Jason's parents were siblings, or, at the least, cousins.
Shane West: Oh.
Dr. Matt: Now, even worse than those two freakshows is Streets Wilson and Rick Stevens. Two men so boring, so fucking uninspired that the best tag team name they could come up with was "Streets Wilson and Rick Stevens". I swear to fucking god, I have nothing to say about these two because they are so fucking vanilla that any insult I try to come up with is nothing more than "you guys suck and I'm better"; which, coincidentally, would be more interesting than anything the two of them have every said. But, fuck, not only are they going to be sucking all the energy out of everyone in the Twin Cities, but they aren't even going to be at full strength because they have to go through Retribution Inc. earlier in the night. Christ almighty, I can already imagine how much of a letdown this main event will be. Hell, I might even start a Boring chant just to keep myself awake.
Shane West: Harsh words from a guy who hasn't won a match in nearly 3 months.
Dr. Matt: Whatever. To be honest, this is going to be the most one-sided than that time Earnest Hemingway boxed Oscar Wilde.
Shane West: Uh, I don't think that happened. In fact, I'm pretty sure Wilde died when Hemingway would've been an infant.
Dr. Matt: Yeah, and Oscar Wilde pounded the shit out of him.
Shane West: Uh...
Dr. Matt: Wait, maybe that didn't happen. Sometimes the drugs just form new memories. For years I thought that when Darth Vader pulled his mask off at the end of Return of the Jedi, it was actually Chewbacca underneath.
Shane West: Maybe you should consider rehab.
Dr. Matt: Maybe you should shut the fuck up.
Shane West: Right. Well, I've had enough of this.
Shane West gets up and walks away.
Dr. Matt: Right. Well, to close, suck it, bitches, Dr. Matt is back and 100% Mattisfaction is Guaranteed; because, if I get fired again, I can't go back to the streets.
We fade to black with Dr. Matt shuddering at his memories from the past month.
