Boring Ends Now...

[Manhattan White]

~*~The opening guitar chords to “Rocket Skates” by the Deftones break the boredom of the audience at an APW house show and everyone’s attention turns to the curtains parting at the top of the stage. Red, white, and blue strobe lights flood the arena as a single man strolls out onto the stage. His hair is shaved close to his head, the beginnings of a Van Dyke beginning to grow around his mouth, honey colored sunglasses distort the lights of the strobes. A smile crawls across his face as he lofts the business end of a hockey stick across his shoulders before making the slow decent down the entrance ramp. The trench coat he wears barely sways as this mystery man makes his way down the aisle, taking in the faces of each and every APW fan, watching him take his time.

A chuckle balls like a fist in his throat as he reaches the steps at ringside, the audience is starting to murmur to themselves. He stops and turns, giving them all one last once-over before climbing the stairs, letting the lights and music play themselves out. The houselights come back up and the crowd hums as he walks the edge of the ring and slips through the top two ropes. Walking to a corner of the ring, he props the hockey stick against the turnbuckles, and then hangs his coat over it, pulling a microphone out of the pocket. He walks to the center of the ring and begins.~*~

MW: APW…let me begin by saying, what a pleasure it is to be here.

~*~Not really knowing what to make of the man yet, a few audience members clap, slowly.~*~

MW: What a pleasure it is for you to finally see me.

~*~The man looks out into the crowd, smiling to himself as the crowd begins to chant, “BO-RING!”~*~

MW: What a pleasure it is for me to have gotten dressed up in these fine designer clothes, so that I can show you guys what a real man she look like, and I can show you ladies what you’re missing out on.

~*~Now the crowd has made their decision. The men in the audience boo loudly as the man in the ring just smiles and nods, taking their jeering in stride.~*~

MW: Let me tell you something. You’re all going to have to do better than that.

~*~The rest of the arena joins in and boos the man until the building vibrates, the rafters dripping with their seething hatred.~*~

MW: You’re all going to have to do…more. But that’s why I’m here. I’m here for, more.

~*~He looks out into the crowd as they begin to settle down. He lets his words sink in, allowing them to wonder what exactly he’s talking about.~*~

MW: I wasn’t always a man of fine living. I didn’t always dress this nice, or look this good. Growing up, I lived in the terrifying streets of Camden. I was raised amongst the filth, and the drugs, and the crime, and the death and destruction that only New Jersey can do right.

~*~The crowd begins to chant, calling him Snooki. He laughs, hanging his head and shaking it back and forth.~*~

MW: Well, I’ll give you this, at least you morons have a sense of humor…

~*~The chanting now changes to boos and the man in the ring admires the reaction he’s been able to elicit from the crowd so much so, he begins to nod.~*~

MW: That’s right, get mad. You should be mad! Look at this! Look at what you’re subjected to on a bi-weekly basis!

~*~The man inside the ring waves his arm around, spinning so that he gestures at the entire arena. The banners, the crowd, the APW employees, and the ring in which he stands.~*~

MW: You sheep pay money week after week to either come watch this nightmare of a circus in person, or you watch on your fat asses at home, because you’re too lazy to get in your cars and drive. You pay the money you’ve made from your unemployment checks –

~*~He stops, looking into the angry audience’s eyes from the upper levels and smirks.~*~

MW: --you’re welcome, by the way. Anyway, you pay your hardly earned money to watch a sub-par display of alleged professionals walking out here to put on a show and what’s the best you can get? You get six matches on the upcoming Asylum. Six. That’s it. One match is an Anything Goes Match, and another one, a grown man has to wear a dress. And your supposed main event match is an Elimination Match.

~*~The man motions toward the stage area and the curtains part. The crowd rises to its feet as an attractive intern for APW comes out pushing a cart with some pillows and a sleeping bag inside. The man in the ring motions for her to move a little faster and he leans through the ropes, starting to pull the items out of the car.~*~

MW: Thanks sweetie, way to hustle.

~*~The pillows and sleeping bag slide across the mat of the ring as the man pulls out a backpack and sets it in the ring.~*~

MW: Now! This is what I’m planning on bringing to the next Sunday Night Asylum. Surely, you people have been homeless at least once in your lives. Hell, some of you smell like you could be homeless now.

~*~The crowd boos loudly as the intern retreats. Trash and beers start flying from the hands of the crowd while the man just chuckles.~*~

MW: You predictable slime. Why won’t you learn? I’m here to help you! I’m here to educate you, to show you that there’s a better way. There’s possibilities beyond your wildest imaginations! You don’t have to keep settling for the same tired matches, the same tired cast of rejects spilling from the locker rooms, coming out here and breathing like they’re about to die, guts spilling over their waistbands while they trudge around the ring and pretend to give a crap about what you the viewer take away from your experience.

~*~The man in the ring holds up a finger, motioning for the crowd to wait a second, as if they were going to leave. He reaches into the backpack and pulls out the eye-covering that people wear when they can’t sleep.~*~

MW: But wait! There’s more! A contract signing between BDC and Rico Casteel for their upcoming Pay Per View Title Match and we get to find out how Reginald reacts to getting knocked out at the last show! Here, take this, I’ve got more! You’ll need it at the next Asylum.

~*~He throws the eye-covering into the crowd, and pulls out a couple more, tossing them to the people behind the barricades.~*~

MW: Let me tell you how the signing is going to go – a piece of paper is going to get signed twice! And then maybe the table they were using will get turned over. I’m sure we’ll hear from one, if not both competitors, and it’ll be more promises to kick the other’s ass. Maybe someone will come down to the ceremony and throw a monkey-wrench into the works! Maybe it’ll be “chaos” or “mayhem” or whatever overused catchphrases the announcers puke into their microphones time and time again!

And Reginald? How he feels about getting knocked out? How’s he going to react? Something tells me he’s got at least a mild headache. Something tells me he’s going to be angry and want revenge. Something tells me it is all going to be the same tired garbage that we’ve seen time and time and time again. It doesn’t matter if you’re watching APW, or if you have the balls to watch a competitor’s program on a terrible channel where life in professional wrestling is even sadder. Where everything is watered down and dumbed-down even further.

~*~The man rocks back on his heels, motions to himself and flashes a smile.~*~

MW: But that’s where I come in. That’s where the man known as Manhattan White steps into the APW to shake things up a bit. I’m not concerned about titles. I’m not worried about who’s the next contender, or who deserves what. No one back there deserves a title shot. And no one back there deserves to carry a belt. This company’s “Mega Stars” are a joke! A guy in the Top Three didn’t even compete in the last show.

~*~Manhattan White holds his hands out and feigns horror, putting on a voice that mocks a stupid fan.~*~

MW: That’s how awesome Rico Casteel is, man! He doesn’t even have to be wrestling to be awesome.

~*~Manhattan White wanders over and leans over the ropes looking at the crowd in disgust.~*~

MW: Really? That’s what you’re settling for? You think it is okay for your top stars to not even compete? That your wrestlers come out here in dresses, and that is supposed to be a big draw?

~*~Manhattan White holds up a finger and mocks the management of APW.~*~

MW: Let’s get those asses in the seats! Any ideas?

~*~Manhattan spins on his heels and takes on the identity of another mock APW official.~*~

MW: Sir, I have an idea, but I don’t know. It could be groundbreaking.

~*~Manhattan spins back around and addresses his former identity.~*~

MW: Johnson, you haven’t had a good idea since the match where the loser kissed the winners stinky foot. And then we did it again ten years later like anyone forgot about the first stupid match!

~*~Manhattan turns and hangs his head.~*~

MW: Sorry, sir.

~*~Manhattan White pretends to be annoyed and motions to hurry up.~*~

MW: Out with it, already.

~*~Manhattan White pretends to be the timid boardmember.~*~

MW: Let’s put one of our wrestlers in a dress, sir.

~*~Manhattan takes on the persona of the company’s owner and address the crowd.~*~

MW: A man in a dress! It’s sexy. It’s edgy. It’s…it’s so…

~*~The muscles in Manhattan's face loosen as he drops the facade and goes back to addressing the crowd.~*~

MW: ...twenty years ago a wrestler wearing a dress wasn’t even a good idea, and here we are in 2011 and you idiots are still settling for a man in a dress. Well congratulations you stupid idiots!

~*~Manhattan White starts clapping at the crowd as a hail of more trash is thrown at him.~*~

MW: Fear not, sheep. Your shepperd has come to take you home. Your salvation has arrived and his name is Manhattan White.

~*~Manhattan then faces the back curtained area, to talk directly to the wrestlers in the locker room area.~*~

MW: APW, life has just changed for the better. It’s time to separate the men from the boys, the boring from the sub-par and the sub-par from the relatively okay. Maybe now Asylum will actually start living up to its name. Because you clowns couldn’t impress a coma patient.

~*~The scene fades on Manhattan White’s perfect smile.~*~