Post by PIC on Nov 17, 2022 8:31:17 GMT -5
—November 19, 2022 3:23PM | New York, NY—
~Christmas is fast approaching, and the foot traffic at the Chelsea Market in New York City has picked up as tourists from around the country set their sights on the Big Apple for the holidays. Decorations already adorn the building’s exterior for the festivities, and the increasingly colder weather has only served to expedite the holiday cheer for many. Inside we see a small corner table where two men in their mid-thirties are chatting it up. A short, balding man sips on his $10 coffee as he listens intently to his friend. The man talking is thin with an exaggerated Adam’s apple and pock marks on his cheeks. He’s wearing a CVS polo shirt with ‘Mikey’ written in sharpie on his name tag.~
Mikey: …so I told him he looked like Big Bird at computer camp!
~The balding guy, Jason, does a spit take with his coffee as the two share a belly laugh.~
Jason: Hahahaha… classic humor!
~Mikey’s face glows with pride as he reaches down to pick up an al pastor taco from Los Tacos. He holds it to his mouth to take a bite when he’s bumped from behind, causing the taco to tumble down his shirt and into his lap. The man who bumped into him stops and immediately begins to apologize.~
Man: I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t see you there. I was just in a hurry–
~Mikey stands up, kicks his chair across the floor and grabs the taco.~
Mikey: You’re sorry? Hey Jason, this idiot is sorry that he’s too stupid to walk in a straight line.
Jason: I heard that.
Mikey: Yeah? Did you also hear how sorry he is that his wife has to deal with his average sized dick every night? Hahaha.
~Mikey takes the taco and smacks it into the guy’s face. The man stumbles backward into the wall, his face now covered in guacamole and sour cream. He immediately begins trying to wipe it off.~
Man: My eyes! I’ve got salsa in my eyes!
~Mikey and Jason both laugh. Mikey immediately starts to mimic him as if he’s 5 years old.~
Mikey: Oooh! I’ve got salsa in my eyes! Hahaha. What a dildo!
Voice: Leave him alone!
~Mikey stops laughing and turns to see OCW World Champion PIC standing in front of him. PIC’s a good inch taller and far more put together than Mikey, but bullies like him don’t back down easily. Mikey puffs out his chest.~
Mikey: Nah bruh. I don’t think I will. Who the hell you think you are, anyway, telling me my business?
PIC: It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is you leave this guy alone and let him get on with his day. He already apologized.
Mikey: I don’t care what he did. I’ll do what I want and if you or anyone else don’t like it, that’s your problem.
~Mikey goes to grab another taco from his plate but PIC grabs him by the arm.~
PIC: I said leave him alone.
~Mikey flails his arm causing PIC to let go.~
Mikey: You gonna make me?
~PIC sighs. He thought spending the day alone in the city would be a welcomed distraction to all the drama surrounding Sarah’s paternity and his impending showdown with Mike Mason this week on Massacre. Why do people have to be such dicks?~
PIC: If I have to...
~Mikey smiles and looks away to see the man that bumped into him running away. A second later he’s lunging at PIC with a haymaker. PIC easily sidesteps it, causing Mikey to hit the brick wall. He turns and angrily heads back toward PIC. This time, PIC simply thrusts the side of his hand into Mikey’s Adam's apple, causing him to collapse on the floor immediately while gasping for air. Several of the patrons have now gathered, cell phones recording every move. Jason drops to the floor to check on Mikey while PIC throws his hood over his head and calmly walks away.~
—November 19, 1974 1:23PM | Midland, TX—
~Young Amick Dogeron sits in the back of a powder blue 1967 Buick Skylark as it moves down a dusty west Texas road. The last nineteen days have been a whirlwind for the 7-year old after attempting to save his mother from a beating at the hands of her boyfriend, Tom Winter, on Halloween night. Nancy blamed Amick for Tom’s death, and, unable to overcome her Battered Woman Syndrome and her newly acquired PTSD, she voluntarily terminated her parental rights. Now a ward of the state, Amick is being driven by Regina, his social worker, to his new foster home some 100 miles away. The mid-30’s African American woman wears a blue floral dress with her hair done up in a smallish afro.~
Regina: We’re almost there. You excited?
~Amick stares out the window into the nothingness that is the west Texas plains. He somehow hates his mom and loves her all at the same time. He’s done nothing to deserve being thrown away but has managed to keep the anger buried deep inside… for now.~
Amick: I guess.
~A few seconds of awkward silence pass as she turns off the main road onto a gravel driveway.~
Amick: You said they got kids?
Regina: Mmhmm. Two boys and a girl. One of the boys is about your age and the other’s a couple years older. Emily, the girl, just turned 2 last week. Here we are!
~The car pulls up to a modest country home at the end of a long gravel driveway. A small pond sits off to the left of the house and a green station wagon with wood paneling is parked out back. Two boys swing on a swing set in the yard as a blonde woman walks out of the front door carrying a tiny girl on her hip. Regina turns off the ignition and steps out of the car.~
Regina: Stacy, how are you!
Stacy: Oh you know, just livin’ life. How ya been?
Regina: Fine, just busy. Ray says ‘hi’ by the way. We missed y’all at Bible study last week.
Stacy: Yeah, Eddie’s been workin’ doubles at the factory here lately and I’m not too keen driving’ alone at night.
~The women continue chit-chatting as Amick opens his door and slinks his way around the car. The boys on the swing set look in his direction. He slowly walks over to them. Both boys look similar in appearance, with one being slightly older. Each has brown hair and freckles. The younger boy, Dillon, speaks first.~
Dillon: Who are you?
Mason: That’s the new kid mom was tellin’ us about. The one that killed his daddy.
~Amick lowers his head and stares down at the dirt, mumbling something under his breath.~
Mason: What was that, boy?
Amick: He ain’t my daddy.
~The older boy, Mason, drags his feet to stop his swinging and stands on his feet. He approaches Amick and pushes him in the shoulder.~
Mason: I don’t care who the hell he was. We don’t want no murderers around here.
~Dillon comes to a stop, rushing over to get between the two boys.~
Dillon: It’s ok, Mason. I’m sure he didn’t mean nothin’ by it.
Amick: I don’t want no trouble. I don’t even wanna be here.
Mason: I know. You’re just here cause no one else wants you. Your mama don’t even love you no more.
~Rage begins building up inside of Amick. He clenches his fists while still looking toward the ground.~
Amick: Don’t talk about my mama.
Mason: What did you say, boy?
Amick: I said… DON’T TALK ABOUT MY MAMA!!
~Amick lunges forward, tackling Mason to the ground. The women come running when they hear the commotion. Mason gains the upper hand as he rolls over on top of Amick and begins punching him in the face. His mother pulls him off after the third lick while Regina grabs Amick from behind and drags him away. She helps him to his feet as the two adults hold the boys back from each other. Amick stands fuming, his hair a mess and covered from head to toe in dirt. A trickle of blood drips from his left nostril.~
Regina: So much for first impressions. Amick, this is your foster mother, Stacy Riggall. Stacy… meet Amick Dogeron.
~Christmas is fast approaching, and the foot traffic at the Chelsea Market in New York City has picked up as tourists from around the country set their sights on the Big Apple for the holidays. Decorations already adorn the building’s exterior for the festivities, and the increasingly colder weather has only served to expedite the holiday cheer for many. Inside we see a small corner table where two men in their mid-thirties are chatting it up. A short, balding man sips on his $10 coffee as he listens intently to his friend. The man talking is thin with an exaggerated Adam’s apple and pock marks on his cheeks. He’s wearing a CVS polo shirt with ‘Mikey’ written in sharpie on his name tag.~
Mikey: …so I told him he looked like Big Bird at computer camp!
~The balding guy, Jason, does a spit take with his coffee as the two share a belly laugh.~
Jason: Hahahaha… classic humor!
~Mikey’s face glows with pride as he reaches down to pick up an al pastor taco from Los Tacos. He holds it to his mouth to take a bite when he’s bumped from behind, causing the taco to tumble down his shirt and into his lap. The man who bumped into him stops and immediately begins to apologize.~
Man: I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t see you there. I was just in a hurry–
~Mikey stands up, kicks his chair across the floor and grabs the taco.~
Mikey: You’re sorry? Hey Jason, this idiot is sorry that he’s too stupid to walk in a straight line.
Jason: I heard that.
Mikey: Yeah? Did you also hear how sorry he is that his wife has to deal with his average sized dick every night? Hahaha.
~Mikey takes the taco and smacks it into the guy’s face. The man stumbles backward into the wall, his face now covered in guacamole and sour cream. He immediately begins trying to wipe it off.~
Man: My eyes! I’ve got salsa in my eyes!
~Mikey and Jason both laugh. Mikey immediately starts to mimic him as if he’s 5 years old.~
Mikey: Oooh! I’ve got salsa in my eyes! Hahaha. What a dildo!
Voice: Leave him alone!
~Mikey stops laughing and turns to see OCW World Champion PIC standing in front of him. PIC’s a good inch taller and far more put together than Mikey, but bullies like him don’t back down easily. Mikey puffs out his chest.~
Mikey: Nah bruh. I don’t think I will. Who the hell you think you are, anyway, telling me my business?
PIC: It doesn’t matter who I am. What matters is you leave this guy alone and let him get on with his day. He already apologized.
Mikey: I don’t care what he did. I’ll do what I want and if you or anyone else don’t like it, that’s your problem.
~Mikey goes to grab another taco from his plate but PIC grabs him by the arm.~
PIC: I said leave him alone.
~Mikey flails his arm causing PIC to let go.~
Mikey: You gonna make me?
~PIC sighs. He thought spending the day alone in the city would be a welcomed distraction to all the drama surrounding Sarah’s paternity and his impending showdown with Mike Mason this week on Massacre. Why do people have to be such dicks?~
PIC: If I have to...
~Mikey smiles and looks away to see the man that bumped into him running away. A second later he’s lunging at PIC with a haymaker. PIC easily sidesteps it, causing Mikey to hit the brick wall. He turns and angrily heads back toward PIC. This time, PIC simply thrusts the side of his hand into Mikey’s Adam's apple, causing him to collapse on the floor immediately while gasping for air. Several of the patrons have now gathered, cell phones recording every move. Jason drops to the floor to check on Mikey while PIC throws his hood over his head and calmly walks away.~
.::Mike Mason. A dude so thirsty for my attention on Twitter you’d think he was in the HOW Hall of Fame. The President of Pencil Dicks has an inferiority complex the size of Bifford’s colon and a personality so dry he could land an NIL deal from KY Jelly. Bullies like him are a dime a dozen. He spends his time in the gym getting ‘swole’ on the hopes that one day his massive physique will make up for the self-loathing that eats at his very soul. But the Sultan of Steroids can’t help but hate himself for not being the biggest, baddest man on the planet… or for having a micro penis that only gets hard when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Maybe it’d help if the Legend of Low Self-Esteem forgave his daddy for the shadow he could never escape, but he’d rather stick a needle in his ass, eat a carton of eggs for breakfast, and run a fake presidential campaign to mask his pain.
At this point, why bother? He’ll never be content. His little man syndrome has led him to buy into his own hype. Even winning OCW’s top prize wouldn’t satisfy the Emperor of Entitlement. It’s sad, no… it’s ironic considering his anti-woke platform. The Master of Misogyny claims to hate social justice warriors who cry and demand things they haven’t earned, yet he’s doing the exact same thing here in OCW. When Sahara turned down his demand for an undeserved title shot, the Harbinger of Hypocrites threw a tantrum and jumped her like the coward he truly is.
That’s when the Deacon of Desperation took matters into his own hands yet again, stimulating Strader’s ‘Vee’ into getting a title shot despite his lousy record and having zero statement wins to his name. Since returning, his only ‘victories’ are barely escaping Diana Watts, a Bob Grenier no-show, and a win over a guy on the biggest losing streak since the 2017 Cleveland Browns. At least ten others are more deserving than the Hercules of Herpes, but I guess Strader’s salad tosser scored well enough on his ‘oral exam’ to gain the shot.
So here I am, about to go into my first title defense since beating Outcast with all eyes on me. I’m told I should be nervous. Mike Mason is a genetic freak after all. But I’m not the least bit worried. The Innovator of Incompetence has shown time and again that he doesn’t have what it takes to compete at this level. Just like he will in his so-called bid for the presidency and his war against Canada, Mike Mason is going to lose this Monday night. It’s what he does best. Aside from bodybuilding, losing is the only thing he’s ever been good at. So he can come up with all the nicknames for himself he wants, or sit around trying to get a rise out of me with 153 ‘clever’ P.I.C. acronyms… it doesn’t matter to me. It won’t change the fact he is, and always will be… wrestling’s Mecca of Mediocrity.::.
—November 19, 1974 1:23PM | Midland, TX—
~Young Amick Dogeron sits in the back of a powder blue 1967 Buick Skylark as it moves down a dusty west Texas road. The last nineteen days have been a whirlwind for the 7-year old after attempting to save his mother from a beating at the hands of her boyfriend, Tom Winter, on Halloween night. Nancy blamed Amick for Tom’s death, and, unable to overcome her Battered Woman Syndrome and her newly acquired PTSD, she voluntarily terminated her parental rights. Now a ward of the state, Amick is being driven by Regina, his social worker, to his new foster home some 100 miles away. The mid-30’s African American woman wears a blue floral dress with her hair done up in a smallish afro.~
Regina: We’re almost there. You excited?
~Amick stares out the window into the nothingness that is the west Texas plains. He somehow hates his mom and loves her all at the same time. He’s done nothing to deserve being thrown away but has managed to keep the anger buried deep inside… for now.~
Amick: I guess.
~A few seconds of awkward silence pass as she turns off the main road onto a gravel driveway.~
Amick: You said they got kids?
Regina: Mmhmm. Two boys and a girl. One of the boys is about your age and the other’s a couple years older. Emily, the girl, just turned 2 last week. Here we are!
~The car pulls up to a modest country home at the end of a long gravel driveway. A small pond sits off to the left of the house and a green station wagon with wood paneling is parked out back. Two boys swing on a swing set in the yard as a blonde woman walks out of the front door carrying a tiny girl on her hip. Regina turns off the ignition and steps out of the car.~
Regina: Stacy, how are you!
Stacy: Oh you know, just livin’ life. How ya been?
Regina: Fine, just busy. Ray says ‘hi’ by the way. We missed y’all at Bible study last week.
Stacy: Yeah, Eddie’s been workin’ doubles at the factory here lately and I’m not too keen driving’ alone at night.
~The women continue chit-chatting as Amick opens his door and slinks his way around the car. The boys on the swing set look in his direction. He slowly walks over to them. Both boys look similar in appearance, with one being slightly older. Each has brown hair and freckles. The younger boy, Dillon, speaks first.~
Dillon: Who are you?
Mason: That’s the new kid mom was tellin’ us about. The one that killed his daddy.
~Amick lowers his head and stares down at the dirt, mumbling something under his breath.~
Mason: What was that, boy?
Amick: He ain’t my daddy.
~The older boy, Mason, drags his feet to stop his swinging and stands on his feet. He approaches Amick and pushes him in the shoulder.~
Mason: I don’t care who the hell he was. We don’t want no murderers around here.
~Dillon comes to a stop, rushing over to get between the two boys.~
Dillon: It’s ok, Mason. I’m sure he didn’t mean nothin’ by it.
Amick: I don’t want no trouble. I don’t even wanna be here.
Mason: I know. You’re just here cause no one else wants you. Your mama don’t even love you no more.
~Rage begins building up inside of Amick. He clenches his fists while still looking toward the ground.~
Amick: Don’t talk about my mama.
Mason: What did you say, boy?
Amick: I said… DON’T TALK ABOUT MY MAMA!!
~Amick lunges forward, tackling Mason to the ground. The women come running when they hear the commotion. Mason gains the upper hand as he rolls over on top of Amick and begins punching him in the face. His mother pulls him off after the third lick while Regina grabs Amick from behind and drags him away. She helps him to his feet as the two adults hold the boys back from each other. Amick stands fuming, his hair a mess and covered from head to toe in dirt. A trickle of blood drips from his left nostril.~
Regina: So much for first impressions. Amick, this is your foster mother, Stacy Riggall. Stacy… meet Amick Dogeron.
.::Bullies come in all shapes and sizes. Benjamin Disraeli once said, “courage is fire, and bullying is smoke.” Mike Mason is nothing but smoke. The Fuhrer of Felatio talks a big game but has no substance to back it up. This Monday night, I’ll step into the squared circle Positioned In Courage with a fire burning inside that no one can quench. At Massacre, I’ll end this ‘Make America Marvelous’ movement once and for all. That you can count on… that is a promise!::.
