Post by Joka on May 19, 2014 18:01:22 GMT -6
Johnny Suede: Point yer ears toward me Joka-Cat! You gotta let that funk go, ya dig?
Joka: I dig Johnny. I dig...
My Japanese associate sits next to me on a plane with my much larger manager sitting on the other side of me listening to his mp3 player. Darren Silvaira sits oblivious to the conversation as Johnny Suede keeps talking in his best Elvis impersonation to me. I can admit, it's a strange trio indeed. A Japanese greaser with a pompadour hairdo, a clown dressed in corpse paint, and a seven foot tall monster of a man with a green Mohawk. The trouble we got in the airport was enough to test my patience but now the looks from the other passengers are about to send me over the edge.
However, my mind is racing a mile a minute and the bewildered stares from the people on that aircraft are the least of my worries. After leaving a company I've had the displeasure of working for for the past year, I find myself growing restless. After dropping a hardcore title I've tried to win for all of that time, I find myself starting to get the urge again. You see, I can't go too long without hurting someone. If I don't hurt someone in a wrestling ring soon, I'm afraid I'll have to hurt someone in another way.
My mental condition is a strange one. Most sadomasochist find a certain amount of sexual pleasure in inflicting pain or receiving it. I however, don't find the pleasure to be sexual at all. I find the pleasure to me more like a high. A euphoric sensation on par with taking drugs. When I started my career I was an MMA fighter in the seedy underground world of cage fighting. That wasn't enough though, as I would go months without a fight sometimes. Wrestling was the only true option for a psycho like me. Every week I had a chance to legally beat the ever loving fuck out of someone. Most wrestlers and fighters have to take a while to recuperate after a match or fight, but I don't have that disadvantage. The pain only excites me. The sore muscles push me, keeping me going. Most people have to stop running when their lungs burn and their muscles give out.
Psychologically speaking, pain is all in the mind. physiologically speaking, it's all in the nerves. Pain is your mind trying to tell you something is not "normal" with your body. It's your bodies self manufactured alarm system. If your flesh is cut, your body sends an alarm out to let you know there is a breach in the hull of the space ship. It's your bodies way of making sure more injuries aren't accumulated. Take for instance a specific medical case. CIPA, or Congenital Insensitivity to Pain with Anhidrosis. People with this rare disease cannot feel pain. If their food is too hot, they can't feel it, and gulp it down not realizing it is burning their mouths and throats. Cuts go unnoticed and become infected. Their brains are wired differently and the alarm system is broken. My alarm system is broken as well but instead of sending out signals of pain, my brain sends out the same signal it would send out if I was tickled, or if I had just smoked a joint or took a narcotic pain killer.
That not only creates an advantage for me in the ring, but it also creates a problem. Where others would push to stop a fight with their coup de gras once they are tired or hurt, I go one. Pain is like a drug to me and I need mah fix! It's a tough thing to hurt me enough to make me tap out, but I also don't know when to stop. My sadomasochistic ways mixed with my other, how do I say, psychotic tendencies, tend to be a cocktail for disaster.
I might be rambling but let me shorten this little diatribe down to the basic facts. Recently I left the company I had wrestled for in favor of a new company. The management at the old place was getting too big for their britches and I need a fresh start so to speak. As much as I tried to warn him, as much as I told him it was a bad idea, a man by the name of Stefan Frei and a lovely sounding woman by the name of Sky Sangue called me up and tried to recruit me to their company. A freshly started wrestling organization called Visionaries Of Wrestling. I could say I "vowed" to stand by them, but I'm not one for cliche crap or cheesy puns! Truth be told, I'm just a berserker looking for a place to demolish.
The plane touched down at our destination. My home town of Oklahoma City at the Will Rogers World Airport. In any other place in the world, I would get dirty looks coming out of an airport looking the way I do. Especially with the company I keep. However, OKC is mah city and these are mah people. I get some excited fans rushing me as me and friends walk to the parking lot. My facepaint starting to melt a little in the heat of the Oklahoma sun as I clung to my old green duffel bag that has accompanied me on many an adventure around the world. My green and black dreadlocks tied into a ponytail mohawk of sorts. Monster looking dapper with his black dress pants and white dress shirt. At six and a half feet I tower over most in the airport but he towers over everyone at a little over seven feet tall. On the other side of me strolls Johnny Suede. A senior member of the Tokyo Rockabilly Club and a founding member of the The Strangers, a sadistic and cunning Japanese motorcycle gang. He combs his hair while walking and his leather Strangers vest and clean blue jeans stand out, even amongst me and my mammoth of a manager.
Monster: So Byron... you know I have to ask. Do you trust Frei and Sangue?
Johnny Suede: They don't seem like the ginchiest people if you were to ask this cat! Besides... this VOW place ain't exactly antsville if ya know what I'm saying Daddy-O!
Joka: What he said!
Monster: But what did he say???
Joka: He said they don't seem like the coolest bunch to hang with and that this place ain't exactly packed with new talent... ya dig?
Johnny Suede: Yeah ya dig Monster-Cat!
Monster: Oh what're you two... best friends all of a sudden?
Joka: You gRape jelly cos' I got a new homie now?
Monster: Seems more like a sycophant to me!
Johnny Suede stops combing his hair and quickly flips his greasy comb into his back pocket as he rushes over and stands in front of Monster, staring up at him with a look in his eyes on par with my infamous thousand yard stare. Monster stops and drops his bags as the two have a standoff right there in the Airport. This should be good.
Johnny Suede: I know you think yer a big tickle... but I ain't nobodies ankle biter or back seat bingo... ya dig?
Monster: Actually... I don't dig. What the hell are you saying?!?
Johnny Suede: I'm saying I ain't nobodies Betty!
Monster: *looking at Joka* WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN?!?
Joka: Calm down homie. It means he ain't nobodies bitch and he ain't gonna be a yes-man to me. He asked to join my corner team and I said yes. You know I wouldn't have brought him along for this ride if he was a sycophant that would tell me what I want to hear. He ain't taking away yer spot as my manager but when you have to go deal with company stuff, he'll be the guy coming down to the ring with me.
Monster: Does he have experience in wrestling?
Joka: I'm the guy who taught you Aikido right? Well the guy who taught me Aikido is the same guy who taught him. He is also pretty damn good in Zui quan.
Monster: *looking back at Johnny Suede surprised* Drunken Boxing?!?
Johnny Suede: Dat's right Daddy-O! I'm cook, cookin' when it comes to the Drunken Fist. I learned Houquan Monkey Style and Wushu when I was just a pup!
Joka: See... he ain't some mouthpiece along for the ride. He actually knows his shiz... ya dig?
Monster: Alright, but you never answered my question...
Joka: What question was that?
Johnny Suede: What's cookin' in that noggin of yers about this clyde Frei and that betty Sangue?
Joka: Well they're little offer actually reminds me of Pro Wrestling Revolution back in the day.
Monster: Because a lot of the wrestlers you fought alongside and against are jumping ship to this company?
Joka: Well that... and these two admitted that their company would be focused around a strict wrestling theme. PWR-1 had a them not unlike it back in the day. Wrestling for wrestling's sake. An "honorable" company toting "honor" and "discipline". I know what the people want though. I know the masses thirst for blood and unbridled violence. Didn't take long for me to psycho the show up real quick-like! VOW might be trying to start their show out as honorably as they can, but pretty soon... I'll psycho this show up too. Can you believe they asked me to join and they don't even have a hardcore division yet?
Monster: Oh no...
Johnny Suede: Cut the gas!
Joka: YEAH! I'm the Clown Prince of Hardcore. If Crisis didn't already have the nickname of King of Hardcore... I'd be a shoe-in for the moniker. I'm hardcore to the bone. No one has won as many hardcore matches as me. I'm a Hall of Famer in PWR-1 and GWA BECAUSE of my hardcore matches. I won every title in Great Wrestling Action and that journey started by winning the No Limits title. I broke the record for longest streak ever in PWR-1 by winning the Hardcore title in my first month in that company and then proceeding to demolish every person that tried to dethrone me. How the FUCK are they gonna invite me to a company that doesn't even have a hardcore division???
As I talked, we had made our way out of the airport and into the permanent parking garage where Darren's massive truck is sitting. The thing resembles it's owner with it's lift kit and huge tires. Monster fires it up as I take shotgun and Johnny grabs the middle of the backseat. We make the loop over to the interstate as I light up a cigarette, much to the dismay of Monster, who doesn't allow anyone to smoke in his truck. Well anyone but me, that is.
Monster: *looking annoyed* What you are saying is that you have done it all in the world of hardcore wrestling. Not many can say they thrived in Deathcore Wrestling, a company built around hardcore wrestling. A company that actually had death matches where the loser actually had to die! Not much left you can do to cement the fact that you are the Clown Prince of Hardcore.
Joka: So what're you sayin'?
Monster: Ever thought about switching your focus? You've won countless Hardcore titles... but you've only ever won a handful of World Heavyweight titles. Ever since you bulked up and put weight on, you've come to look the part. In the former company you wrestled for, you proved to everyone that you have the grappling chops and uncanny strength to contend with guys twice your size!
Joka: Like when I went toe-to-toe with Hazard?
Monster: Exactly! That guy is as big as me and you were able to slam him with ease...
Joka: Well... not exactly. Took a smidgen more effort on mah part to get that big man up off his feet homie!
Monster: Still. I know you are infamous for your dirty tactics. I mean the world loves it when you kick people in the balls. However, I think you should drop your smashmouth style and focus more on your grappling. Your Sadist Slam is a vicious finisher. More vicious than any of the other finishers you had in the past.
Joka: Yeah it's becoming mah favorite move by far.
Monster: Listen. I know it's not your style but if you were to put your mean streak and sadistic focus into grappling, you would be unstoppable. I know you are the teacher and I'm the student. You taught me Muay Thai and Aikido after all. If you would let me... I'd like to be your strength coach and teach you a few things in grappling.
The big man had a point. I flicked my cigarette out of the window as we took the exit and merged onto 240. I thought back to the first time I won a World Heavyweight title. I had won the Money In The Bank ladder match in PWR-1 and even though I cared little about actually turning it in for a World Heavyweight shot, the bossman "Ironman" Rob Bissel forced me into the match and I reluctantly accepted. In a helluva battle, I beat Brian Moss for the PWR-1 World Heavyweight Championship. I have to admit, Monsters idea did intrigue me. There wasn't much left to do hardcore wise. I've dominated the hardcore world and it was time to move up.
Joka: Fuck the house... let's go to the gym.
I owned a little boxing gym that I renovated with a wrestling ring and equipment to train for my matches. I wasn't always the gym type when it came to training for my matches. My usual methods would have consisted of either getting drunk and staring a fight at the bar or setting up an underground cage fight. However, I already had a match booked for VOW's show Breakthrough. A match against a rookie named Brett Carson. A pretty boy grappler with an ego and a lot to be gained by taking out a veteran like myself in his first match in VOW. If I were to introduce this new style I needed to hit the gym immediately. Besides, I was never the type to lounge around on my time off.
I would never tell Monster, but my motives haven't changed with this new-found attitude. I have my eyes on a new prize and everything that shines belongs to me. Doesn't matter if I have to steal it, cheat to get it, or hurt a thousand people to win it. ALL THAT IS SHINY... IS MINE! This Carson Daly motherfucker doesn't know who I am, but after Breakthrough... he'll regret ever joining Visionaries Of Wrestling. I am the Berserker. If you can't make me feel real pain... get the fuck out of my way. I'm the last polar bear on Earth who refused to fuck to save his species, his balls stuck to an iceberg as he rides it into oblivion. I'm a tornado of metal and fire, ready to eat my path to the top of VOW. I'm the motherfuckin' Court Jester of Wrestling. However, I'm done being the funny man. I'm done tellin' the jokes and playing the clown.
VOW is about to be stricken with Coulrophobia!
Are you losing it? No weapons? No hardcore? What do you think you are doing clown?
Are you losing it? No weapons? No hardcore? What do you think you are doing clown?
Joka: I'm doing what you couldn't... Byron!
Monster: You say something Joka?
Joka: Just thinking out loud...
