Post by The Nickleman on Nov 13, 2022 0:59:42 GMT -5
Sitting in the depths of his despair, Charles Nichols looked around the dining room table and saw all of his life’s greatest accomplishments. With achievement after achievement seated securely in highchairs all around him, The Nickleman sat at the head of the table with a blank expression on his face. With just one flickering light bulb illuminating his scenery, it was safe to say Charles was surely in a dark place right now. In front of every high-chair rested an empty plate and a half-empty glass of air. In front of The Nickleman sat a half-full glass of air and a plate filled to the brim with his desire.
“So this is it….I’m finally here. The precipice, the peak of the mountain- I finally made it. I always thought it’d be more fun to look down on everyone from these heights….but they all just look like ants from up here.”
The Nickleman glanced back across the table at all his wildest dreams come true. The OCW Savage Championship, OCW Tag Championship, XWF Supercontinental Championship, and the IIW Tag Championship all surely smiled back at him through the darkness.
“Is this what love is?”
Charles looked at the championships around the table with a growing knot in his stomach- and a growing emptiness in his heart. He had traded everything in his life to get to this point, to achieve this greatness: but now that he was here, who was he supposed to share it with?
“This love feels….so one-sided….do you girls even care about me?”
Charles looked at his championship belts through the darkness, desperate for their affirmation: but it never came. The Nickleman sighed deeply as his heart dropped through his chest, an immutable feeling of loneliness overtaking his soul. Charles looked back to his fancy wine glass full of hot air, which now appeared to him to be half-empty. He shook his head in despair. With a subtle rage growing behind his eyes, The Nickleman looked back to his collection of championship gold.
“I gave up everything to get you….for more than twenty years I dedicated my entire life, my entire existence, my entire being to the chase, to the quest….all in the hopes of climbing the tallest mountains and riding the biggest waves. I gave up time with my family, my wife, my kids…..I missed 20 Christmases, 20 Thanksgivings, and 13 birthdays….for this?”
The Nickleman scoffed.
“For you? You won’t even talk to me…..you’re no better than my kids.”
The Nickleman clenched his fists together and scowled at the collection of gold, at his life’s greatest works. That’s when all the overhead lights suddenly flipped on, and it became clear that Charles was in the middle of an Ikea after-hours.
“Uhhh Charlie……are you in here? Thunder Knuckles told me you probably snuck in here again…..”
A small, balding man walks into the scene, walking past pre-arranged Swedish furniture while looking for Charles. The Nickleman stares down his championship gold for a few more seconds before turning to address the familiar voice.
“I’m just having tea-time with the girls!”
The Nickleman spoke in a cheery voice as he plastered a fake smile to his face. Charles Nichols had sacrificed everything in his life to get where he was, all because he believed it would make him the happiest man in the world. Now that he was here, The Nickleman was determined to live the lie until it became true. Charles swallowed his aching loneliness, nearly choking on it as he forced it into a small cellar out of sight, out of mind.
“Oh…well, at least you aren’t fisting a dolphin’s blowhole in here.”
The skinny little white boy breathed a sigh of relief as he walked into the fake dining room.
“Look, Jimson, that was a one-time thing, okay?! You need to get over it.”
The Nickleman stood up out of his chair, and the price tag of the chair clearly flashes past the screen as the chair moves. It was a lot of money. You shouldn’t pay that much money for a mediocre chair, even if a hot Swedish girl did make it.
“It’s pretty weird to walk in on someone fisting a dolphin in an Ikea after-hours, it’s not the kind of thing you just forget about.”
The Nickleman walks around the table and starts picking all of his championship gold up out of their highchairs.
“A lot of cool things happen inside of Ikeas after-hours, okay? Some weird things too, sure, but it just is what it is. There’s a reason I always take the ladies here on first, second, and third dates. You’re guaranteed to get laid here, and hell, no woman would ever say no to me inside of an Ikea.”
“Why’s that?”
The bald man named ‘Jimson’ cocks his head to the side curiously.
“Well…..because of the implication. I mean, is there even going to be anybody to hear their screams?”
The Nickleman winks as he picks up the last belt and places it around his arm.
“Well that’s….fucking dark. Jesus, dude, I’m starting to see why your wife left.”
Charles stares down Jimson with a rageful expression, but the bald-headed honkey doesn’t even notice because he’s already playing on his cellphone.
“Anyways, the boys in BOB wanted me to come get ya’ because we need you for some video game stuff.”
The Nickleman sneers while shaking his head in disgust. All the championship gold around his shoulders shakes and shimmers as his head bobs.
“Video game stuff? Yeah, I don’t do that. I’m a real man, okay? If I want to do a Grand Theft Auto I just do it, thank you very much.”
Jimson rubs the temple of his forehead in frustration with The Nickleman’s never-ending idiocy.
“No dude, it’s for the new OCW2k game! They need to do some motion-capture stuff, put you in a greensuit and watch you jack off or something, so they can figure out how your body moves and put it in the game!”
“Public masturbation? Hmmmm, yeah I suppose it has been a while. Okay, I’m in. I’ve been pretty hard for the last 48 hours anyways, after I took all those mystery pills I found in the trash cans behind the old folk’s home.”
The Nickleman walks up to Jimson and pats him on the back so forcefully that he almost trips and falls.
“Now let’s go, baby! This boner ain’t gonna last forever….I hope….”
The camera fades to black as Jimson leads The Nickleman and his many golden bitches through the after-hours Ikea.
“Aaaaaand cut! Great work, Chuck!”
“We’re done now? Thank fucking God.”
We transition to a shot of The Nickleman walking off a motion-capture set while wearing a full-body greensuit that only reveals his head. Silver colored sensors are sewn into the suit at strategic places to measure The Nickleman’s movement. Production assistant and game designers walk around in the background, clearly very busy and very stressed with the making of OCW2k. As The Nickleman nears the camera you can see he is drenched in sweat and extremely pissed off. He catches sight of Jimson out of the corner of his eye and marches over towards him.
“Motherfucker! You told me I could jerk off here, but they never even let me take my cock out once! They just made me run around and do a bunch of fucking jumping jacks and shit!”
Jimson shrugs. He’s a much smaller man than Charles, but clearly he’s used to this kind of rage from him by now. You don’t have any reason to know this, but you get the hunch that these two guys used to wrestle together years ago.
“Hey dude, at least you got paid for it right? Back when we were tagging together as D.D.S. we would’ve killed for a payday half as big as this one.”
Oh, I guess I jumped the gun a bit there a second ago. Whatever. Either way, Jimson pulls out a cashier’s check with a censored amount of money written on it. The Nickleman immediately lights up.
“Well damn!”
A fucking douchebag in a suit walks up behind Charles Nichols with a bluetooth earpiece shoved in his earhole and a smile forced onto his face. You know he’s a douchebag because he’s the only guy in this scene wearing a full suit.
“You like that, huh? Well sonny let me tell you, there’s a lot more where that came from! The Nickleman is a big name around these markets, and we’ve seen a lot of consumer interest in your brand. We’ve even been bouncing around the idea of a single-player Nickleman RPG!”
“Oh yeah? You’ve got my interest…keep talking.”
“Well golly gee, where to begi-”
“Ok, stop talking now.”
The Nickleman hushes the man while placing a firm hand on the empty suit’s shoulder.
“Don’t talk to me like a little bitch in a suit. Talk to me like a real man.”
Visibly taken aback, the corporate talking head stammers for a few seconds, unable to regain his bearings.
“Pffft get the fuck out of here. You video game dudes are such weak little bitches.”
The Nickleman castigates the corporate suit and tries to send him away, but Jimson steps in to save the payday.
“Hey hold on Charlie, just wait a second…you know kids love video games, right? In fact, the last time you had me break into your ex-wife’s house and check on your kids they were playing video games!”
“I thought you said you caught Tyler playing with his Wii!”
“That’s a type of video game.”
“I don’t think kids should be playing those kinds of games!”
The corporate fatcat, sensing an opening, jumps back into the conversation.
“Well Nickleman, we want to make your game rated M, for Mature, so no kids will be playing it at all!”
The Nickleman looks back to the corporate pawn, set to tell him off- until a dusty lightbulb suddenly flicks ‘on’ inside of Chucky Murder’s head. Charles cocked his head to the side and smiled devilishly as he finally figured out a way to violate the court’s no-contact order with his children. After all this time alone, Charles was finally going to talk to his children again.
“You know what….I think we should make a Nickleman game! But it needs to be family friendly, not just that, it needs to be marketed directly to children! Especially kids in Ohio! We need to put my face, my voice, and my message everywhere so the young ones can hear it. So they can hear what they need to…”
The corporate suit and Jimson traded confused looks with each other before The Nickleman spoke up again.
“You fucking did it, you piece of corporate shit. You did it! You convinced me to license my name, image, and likeness for your stupid video game! But I’m going to need complete creative control….”
The guy in the suit blinked, stunned at how easy that was.
“Yeah, of course! Certainly! Come, I’ll introduce you to the lead developer I had in mind for the project!”
Jimson and Nickleman followed the corporate suit away from the set as the scene faded to black.
We cut to a shot of The Nickleman seated next to a dweebish looking ginger, both men looking up at a computer monitor. The dweeb pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he types a few things into his keyboard.
“So I took the notes you gave me, and while unconventional, I think we can probably make a game out of it. But this story is….weird, to say the least. You want people to play as a child who gets abused by their demonic mother until Nickleman comes in and saves the day. Wouldn’t it be more fun to flip the gamer perspective, so that way people are actually playing the game as you and not as an abused child?”
“Just make the game I tell you to make!”
“Ok, ok…..but we need to talk about this first mini-boss you wanted.”
The ginger pulls up the image on the monitor.
“What’s going on here?”
“That’s The Big Bitchford! Back in another life he used to be intimidating, but now he’s just the rotting corpse of a man who was[/b] great. He has a Plethora of excuses for why times have changed, but at the end of the day The Bitchford is just another relic of the past. His husk is compelled to chase after that which it can no longer attain: golden greatness. His guts are falling out, he’s been disemboweled, he’s no longer the great fighter the townsfolk remember. No matter how hard The Bitchford wishes upon his own falling star, he will never again return to form. All this wandering behemoth has left now is his shattered memories, and his failing body. Bitchford feasts like a vermin on the caracasses of the weak and the lame, and in their suffering he takes solace…yet still, even Bitchford knows he will never again dethrone a champion of the lands!
The Bitchford is the unliving, unbreathing embodiment of a classic expression: ‘The Bigger They Are, The Harder They Fall’. None of the townsfolk could believe it when The Nickleman felled The Big Bitch…but none could argue with the severed head of the giant.”[/font]
The ginger ran his hands through his hair in frustration.
“But you want people to play as the kid, and NOT The Nickleman!"
“So this is it….I’m finally here. The precipice, the peak of the mountain- I finally made it. I always thought it’d be more fun to look down on everyone from these heights….but they all just look like ants from up here.”
The Nickleman glanced back across the table at all his wildest dreams come true. The OCW Savage Championship, OCW Tag Championship, XWF Supercontinental Championship, and the IIW Tag Championship all surely smiled back at him through the darkness.
“Is this what love is?”
Charles looked at the championships around the table with a growing knot in his stomach- and a growing emptiness in his heart. He had traded everything in his life to get to this point, to achieve this greatness: but now that he was here, who was he supposed to share it with?
“This love feels….so one-sided….do you girls even care about me?”
Charles looked at his championship belts through the darkness, desperate for their affirmation: but it never came. The Nickleman sighed deeply as his heart dropped through his chest, an immutable feeling of loneliness overtaking his soul. Charles looked back to his fancy wine glass full of hot air, which now appeared to him to be half-empty. He shook his head in despair. With a subtle rage growing behind his eyes, The Nickleman looked back to his collection of championship gold.
“I gave up everything to get you….for more than twenty years I dedicated my entire life, my entire existence, my entire being to the chase, to the quest….all in the hopes of climbing the tallest mountains and riding the biggest waves. I gave up time with my family, my wife, my kids…..I missed 20 Christmases, 20 Thanksgivings, and 13 birthdays….for this?”
The Nickleman scoffed.
“For you? You won’t even talk to me…..you’re no better than my kids.”
The Nickleman clenched his fists together and scowled at the collection of gold, at his life’s greatest works. That’s when all the overhead lights suddenly flipped on, and it became clear that Charles was in the middle of an Ikea after-hours.
“Uhhh Charlie……are you in here? Thunder Knuckles told me you probably snuck in here again…..”
A small, balding man walks into the scene, walking past pre-arranged Swedish furniture while looking for Charles. The Nickleman stares down his championship gold for a few more seconds before turning to address the familiar voice.
“I’m just having tea-time with the girls!”
The Nickleman spoke in a cheery voice as he plastered a fake smile to his face. Charles Nichols had sacrificed everything in his life to get where he was, all because he believed it would make him the happiest man in the world. Now that he was here, The Nickleman was determined to live the lie until it became true. Charles swallowed his aching loneliness, nearly choking on it as he forced it into a small cellar out of sight, out of mind.
“Oh…well, at least you aren’t fisting a dolphin’s blowhole in here.”
The skinny little white boy breathed a sigh of relief as he walked into the fake dining room.
“Look, Jimson, that was a one-time thing, okay?! You need to get over it.”
The Nickleman stood up out of his chair, and the price tag of the chair clearly flashes past the screen as the chair moves. It was a lot of money. You shouldn’t pay that much money for a mediocre chair, even if a hot Swedish girl did make it.
“It’s pretty weird to walk in on someone fisting a dolphin in an Ikea after-hours, it’s not the kind of thing you just forget about.”
The Nickleman walks around the table and starts picking all of his championship gold up out of their highchairs.
“A lot of cool things happen inside of Ikeas after-hours, okay? Some weird things too, sure, but it just is what it is. There’s a reason I always take the ladies here on first, second, and third dates. You’re guaranteed to get laid here, and hell, no woman would ever say no to me inside of an Ikea.”
“Why’s that?”
The bald man named ‘Jimson’ cocks his head to the side curiously.
“Well…..because of the implication. I mean, is there even going to be anybody to hear their screams?”
The Nickleman winks as he picks up the last belt and places it around his arm.
“Well that’s….fucking dark. Jesus, dude, I’m starting to see why your wife left.”
Charles stares down Jimson with a rageful expression, but the bald-headed honkey doesn’t even notice because he’s already playing on his cellphone.
“Anyways, the boys in BOB wanted me to come get ya’ because we need you for some video game stuff.”
The Nickleman sneers while shaking his head in disgust. All the championship gold around his shoulders shakes and shimmers as his head bobs.
“Video game stuff? Yeah, I don’t do that. I’m a real man, okay? If I want to do a Grand Theft Auto I just do it, thank you very much.”
Jimson rubs the temple of his forehead in frustration with The Nickleman’s never-ending idiocy.
“No dude, it’s for the new OCW2k game! They need to do some motion-capture stuff, put you in a greensuit and watch you jack off or something, so they can figure out how your body moves and put it in the game!”
“Public masturbation? Hmmmm, yeah I suppose it has been a while. Okay, I’m in. I’ve been pretty hard for the last 48 hours anyways, after I took all those mystery pills I found in the trash cans behind the old folk’s home.”
The Nickleman walks up to Jimson and pats him on the back so forcefully that he almost trips and falls.
“Now let’s go, baby! This boner ain’t gonna last forever….I hope….”
The camera fades to black as Jimson leads The Nickleman and his many golden bitches through the after-hours Ikea.
“Aaaaaand cut! Great work, Chuck!”
“We’re done now? Thank fucking God.”
We transition to a shot of The Nickleman walking off a motion-capture set while wearing a full-body greensuit that only reveals his head. Silver colored sensors are sewn into the suit at strategic places to measure The Nickleman’s movement. Production assistant and game designers walk around in the background, clearly very busy and very stressed with the making of OCW2k. As The Nickleman nears the camera you can see he is drenched in sweat and extremely pissed off. He catches sight of Jimson out of the corner of his eye and marches over towards him.
“Motherfucker! You told me I could jerk off here, but they never even let me take my cock out once! They just made me run around and do a bunch of fucking jumping jacks and shit!”
Jimson shrugs. He’s a much smaller man than Charles, but clearly he’s used to this kind of rage from him by now. You don’t have any reason to know this, but you get the hunch that these two guys used to wrestle together years ago.
“Hey dude, at least you got paid for it right? Back when we were tagging together as D.D.S. we would’ve killed for a payday half as big as this one.”
Oh, I guess I jumped the gun a bit there a second ago. Whatever. Either way, Jimson pulls out a cashier’s check with a censored amount of money written on it. The Nickleman immediately lights up.
“Well damn!”
A fucking douchebag in a suit walks up behind Charles Nichols with a bluetooth earpiece shoved in his earhole and a smile forced onto his face. You know he’s a douchebag because he’s the only guy in this scene wearing a full suit.
“You like that, huh? Well sonny let me tell you, there’s a lot more where that came from! The Nickleman is a big name around these markets, and we’ve seen a lot of consumer interest in your brand. We’ve even been bouncing around the idea of a single-player Nickleman RPG!”
“Oh yeah? You’ve got my interest…keep talking.”
“Well golly gee, where to begi-”
“Ok, stop talking now.”
The Nickleman hushes the man while placing a firm hand on the empty suit’s shoulder.
“Don’t talk to me like a little bitch in a suit. Talk to me like a real man.”
Visibly taken aback, the corporate talking head stammers for a few seconds, unable to regain his bearings.
“Pffft get the fuck out of here. You video game dudes are such weak little bitches.”
The Nickleman castigates the corporate suit and tries to send him away, but Jimson steps in to save the payday.
“Hey hold on Charlie, just wait a second…you know kids love video games, right? In fact, the last time you had me break into your ex-wife’s house and check on your kids they were playing video games!”
“I thought you said you caught Tyler playing with his Wii!”
“That’s a type of video game.”
“I don’t think kids should be playing those kinds of games!”
The corporate fatcat, sensing an opening, jumps back into the conversation.
“Well Nickleman, we want to make your game rated M, for Mature, so no kids will be playing it at all!”
The Nickleman looks back to the corporate pawn, set to tell him off- until a dusty lightbulb suddenly flicks ‘on’ inside of Chucky Murder’s head. Charles cocked his head to the side and smiled devilishly as he finally figured out a way to violate the court’s no-contact order with his children. After all this time alone, Charles was finally going to talk to his children again.
“You know what….I think we should make a Nickleman game! But it needs to be family friendly, not just that, it needs to be marketed directly to children! Especially kids in Ohio! We need to put my face, my voice, and my message everywhere so the young ones can hear it. So they can hear what they need to…”
The corporate suit and Jimson traded confused looks with each other before The Nickleman spoke up again.
“You fucking did it, you piece of corporate shit. You did it! You convinced me to license my name, image, and likeness for your stupid video game! But I’m going to need complete creative control….”
The guy in the suit blinked, stunned at how easy that was.
“Yeah, of course! Certainly! Come, I’ll introduce you to the lead developer I had in mind for the project!”
Jimson and Nickleman followed the corporate suit away from the set as the scene faded to black.
“So I took the notes you gave me, and while unconventional, I think we can probably make a game out of it. But this story is….weird, to say the least. You want people to play as a child who gets abused by their demonic mother until Nickleman comes in and saves the day. Wouldn’t it be more fun to flip the gamer perspective, so that way people are actually playing the game as you and not as an abused child?”
“Just make the game I tell you to make!”
“Ok, ok…..but we need to talk about this first mini-boss you wanted.”
The ginger pulls up the image on the monitor.
“What’s going on here?”
“That’s The Big Bitchford! Back in another life he used to be intimidating, but now he’s just the rotting corpse of a man who was[/b] great. He has a Plethora of excuses for why times have changed, but at the end of the day The Bitchford is just another relic of the past. His husk is compelled to chase after that which it can no longer attain: golden greatness. His guts are falling out, he’s been disemboweled, he’s no longer the great fighter the townsfolk remember. No matter how hard The Bitchford wishes upon his own falling star, he will never again return to form. All this wandering behemoth has left now is his shattered memories, and his failing body. Bitchford feasts like a vermin on the caracasses of the weak and the lame, and in their suffering he takes solace…yet still, even Bitchford knows he will never again dethrone a champion of the lands!
The Bitchford is the unliving, unbreathing embodiment of a classic expression: ‘The Bigger They Are, The Harder They Fall’. None of the townsfolk could believe it when The Nickleman felled The Big Bitch…but none could argue with the severed head of the giant.”[/font]
The ginger ran his hands through his hair in frustration.
“But you want people to play as the kid, and NOT The Nickleman!"
