Boom

[Manhattan White]

~*~A transit bus pulls up on the side of the road, just ahead of a van carrying a camera crew from APW. The sound guy stands in the weeds smoking a cigar while some nerdy guy nervously changes the tire of the van. Vic, the camera guy goads the poor kid, calling him names and making claims against the kid’s virginity. The sound guy watches as the transit bus’s doors open and passengers spill out of its doors, covering their mouths, gagging. One woman falls into the grass on the shoulder crying out for God. The sound guy yells at Vic, Vic notices, grabs the camera and the two go jogging toward the bus, just in time to catch Manhattan White stumbling off the bus, with his shirt pulled up over his nose.~*~

MW: For the love of all that is holy…

IP: Aye, laddie. There is nothin’ holy ‘bout that stench, unless it is “holy shite!”

~*~Irish Pete steps off of the bus, wiping a tear from his eye, waving the air in front of his nose. He then sees the APW crew standing in the bushes and nudges Manhattan White. The nerdy kid that was changing the tire comes running up, microphone in hand, and stutters out a fumbling excuse of an apology for intruding. Manhattan puts a hand out to reassure the APW staffer and pulls him and the microphone closer.~*~

MW: Actually, I’m glad you’re here. Before Satan reared he’s awful head inside of that bus and lit the air on fire with a napalm-like stench, Irey here, was showing me the latest promos that Jason “Weed N’ Bitches” Kash and Mike “Please, Please, Please, I Pray You Believe I’m Crazy” Morrison shot for the upcoming Asylum. And wait – do you hear that?

~*~Manhattan White turns the APW staffers head out toward the empty field. The camera and sound guy slowly turn behind them and see nothing but the darkness of night. They hear nothing but the wind and crickets.~*~

MW: Do you hear that silence? It is deafening, isn’t it? You are almost praying to God above, I have no doubt, that he reaches down with his thumb and forefinger, and he just squishes your head like it’s a pimple, into a paste, because that would surely be less painful than the roar of silence coming from Rico Casteel! Helen Keller has come back from the dead, dialed up APW, and asked that perhaps someone give Rico a pen and paper, a carrier pigeon, a Hotmail account. Maybe someone should teach him how to Twitter. Because, his silence is so loud, it hurts her #deaf-goddamn-ears! Farts have been known to be quieter and far more deadly than Rico Casteel.

And Morrison? Are you serious? Albert Einstein once said that insanity is, “doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” Now, with that being said, young Michael is a broken record. “Oi! Here’s a random British reference that you won’t understand. Google it and bask in my British ways.” Yes Michael, we’re all impressed that you can talk about some show that the rest of the world doesn’t care about enough to know what the Hell you’re talking about. But that doesn’t classify you as crazy. Nor does going on and on about how insane you really are, that doesn’t make you crazy either. Sure, you’re doing the same tired thing time and time again, but you aren’t expecting any different results, are you? You don’t actually expect any of us to take you seriously enough to care, right? Surely, you don’t.

And what is this nonsense about me cheating my way into the Elimination Chamber? What is this racket about me not having an agenda? What is this absolute rambling drivel about me being in a rut, where people are starting to forget about me? The match that put me into the Elimination Chamber ended in a draw. The spot in the Elimination Chamber was given to me by Asylum’s General Manager. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t beg for it. I didn’t scheme to gain it. It was given to me. Did I deserve it? Maybe not, but I certainly didn’t get that shot through any unsavory actions on my behalf whatsoever. And I don’t have an agenda? Clearly, you aren’t insane, you’re just flat-out stupid. Since day one, I’ve made it abundantly clear that I’m in the APW for two reasons. I walk down that aisle, climb through those ropes, and stand toe to toe in front of Asylum fans show-in and show-out for two simple reasons. One – I’m there to lay mouthy little weasels out. To inflict pain, to break bodies, and release the demons that I I’ve carried on my back all of my life. Two – I’m here to change the face of APW. I’ve watched Asylum since it first aired, and people like you and your partner, Hell, even my partner bore me to death.

You get in front of the camera, do your little dance, and you go home. No one is impressed. No one really thinks you’re scary, intimidating, or crazy. You’re a tired character that no one understands. Why? Because you can’t even pull that off properly. And the worst of it all? You buy into it yourselves, all of this Martyrs of Madness. What is that? Which one of you died to make you martyrs, exactly? A martyr is someone that dies or falls for a cause. The only one of you that’s fallen is Rico, and it wasn’t a cause that he fell for. He just flat out lost at the Elimination Chamber. And he didn’t just lose, he lost first. He wasn’t even one of the first two competitors in that match. Martyrs? No. Don’t believe me? “Look it up.”

And what is this rut you speak of, exactly? My first match here, I retired the Bodacious one. The Elimination Chamber, I competed in that, shortly thereafter, the legendary Sally disappears. And then, Mike, your last partner, Tommy Knoxville and you climbed into the ring with me, and he disappeared. If that’s your definition of a rut, sign me up! If that is what is a rut to you, that what is it that you’re in? Because I’ve put you down a number of times, slick. If you call that a rut, then I’ll take that and ride it for as long as I can, because whatever you’re doing certainly isn’t winning you any favor. You’re an after-thought, a coat-tail riding peasant, hoping that Rico won’t realize too soon that you’re still in his corner. Because one day he’s going to turn around, realize you’re still there, and either destroy you himself, or pick you up and use you as a meat-shield.

So, here it is, in a mere two nights, Jason “Look At Me! Why Won’t Anyone Look At Me, I’m More Than These Hoes” Kash and Manhattan White will face Rico “Suave” Casteel and Mike “How Many More Times Do I Have To Tell You Too Look Some Stupid Reference Up Before You Believe I’m English” Morrison. Vancouver Canada, ehh? Land of bacon, denim, and Bryan Adams! It’s the last Asylum, and the last match before we all head to Tacoma, Washington for Christmas Chaos, so you know a fight is going down. You know damn well messages are going to be sent. You know that when Kash and I walk down that aisle, climb through those ropes, and look across the ring at the Muppets of Madness, all out war is going to break out.

And that isn’t because there’s some score to settle. It isn’t going to be another chapter in the Casteel/Kash war. It isn’t going to be some onslaught brought on by Morrison and Rico’s alleged insanity.
No, it will, however be because Jason Kash and Manhattan White are in town and we come to jack jaws, wow the crowds, and win matches. Jason questions whether or not he can trust me? I understand that. I understand that he questions my intentions after “The Punch Heard ‘Round the World.” I get that. And I won’t address that just yet.

But what he needs to understand is, that he has Manhattan White in his corner. I’m not in the APW for drama. I’m not here with some clear-cut understanding that if I interrupt matches and sandbag wins for or against people, that I’m going to get whatever it is that I want. I’m here to hurt people, and entertain the fans in the process. I’m here to shatter the status quo that is this company. I’m here to win matches. He doesn’t have to trust me as a person, but what he should trust is that when that bell rings three times, and there’s two members of the Asylum roster laid out in the ring, it won’t be he and I. We’ll be standing over the broken bodies of our opponents, with our hands in the air. Manhattan White comes to the ring for one thing and one thing only. He comes to the Asylum to get the goddamn job done, and have fun doing it.

~*~And with that, the bus behind Manhattan White and the APW staffer begins to rock. They flinch as the Happy Pete appears in the doorway, wiping his forehead with a hand towel. He sighs with satisfaction as the staffer covers his nose and gags. Irish Pete just looks at Happy and shakes his head in shame.~*~

IP: Happy, ye fat lout, I warned ye about those damned burritos.

Vic: Are you serious? This promos just been one extended fart joke?

IP: Aye lad, that’s just how the B-Team rolls.

~*~The scene fades as the small APW staffer runs away, throwing up from the smell. Manhattan pulls a cigarette out, and flicks a lighter to light the end of it. Just before the scene goes completely black, everyone from the bus, and the APW crew rush to tackle White, before he can strike the lighter, blowing them all to kingdom come.~*~