Criticism

The image is extremely disorienting for a moment as the camera is turned on, before it finally comes to rest as the camera is set down flat on a level surface. The shot reveals AWOL sitting in front of a large panel of instrumentation containing innumerable dials and audio controls. He is flanked on all sides by television monitors which are currently blacked out. He clears his throat, looking down into the lens to check that it’s lined up, and opens his mouth to speak.

AWOL-It’s been a long time since I’ve bothered to run a clinic like this, but I’ve decided that I’m overdue. The bottom line is the IWC is trying to put out a viable product every week, gentlemen, and the metric by which this is measured is ratings. To be honest, I’ve seen the returns from what you people are putting out this week and they’re simply not that good. Atrocious, that would be a good word for them. So consider this an effort at improving the company. Let it not be said that I’m to do my part.

A burst of rhythmic thumping comes from outside of the shot.

AWOL-Ah, yes, I’ve been taking some of your advice as well, you’ll note. Clearly I’ve spent entirely too much time trying to portray myself as a thinking, feeling human being, based on your expert criticisms. So I’ve hereby broken into the IWC audio-visual truck, attacked the tech who was working here, and locked him inside the closet. Ooooh, look out wrestling fans. The monster AWOL is back. Lock up your women and children! AWOL’s not just smoke with no fire anymore!

AWOL wiggles his fingers sarcastically at the camera lens.

AWOL-But seriously guys, this has been a pretty sad effort from the lot of you. I had a lot of hopes for this week. I truly did. The assemblage of what I was told was the best talent that IWC had to offer was really something I was looking forward to, until I saw what was actually waiting for me in this match. Time and time again, I’ve heard how people like Jackson Adams and Pat Evans have made this place what it is, and, well, I guess given my general opinion of the company at this point I suppose that I can see the truth of that statement.

Another rustle of noise from off camera.

Voice-“Hello? What’s going on?

AWOL-You’re locked in a closet. Be thankful that I only did that, because I’m truly a madman, and could have done far worse.

He makes a masturbatory movement in the air, rolling his eyes.

Voice-Well, um, so what are you going to do? Why’d you lock me in here?

AWOL-I’m going to show mocking clips of my opponents’ promos. I locked you in there to show how strong I am, since that’s sort of the big guy thing to do in promos, I guess. It makes me look tough. Try to keep up, Steve.

He looks back towards the camera.

AWOL-I suppose that’s enough introductory blather. First let’s check in on what Jackson Adams had to contribute to the match build-up.

AWOL flips a switch, causing one of the screens to light up with static. He watches it for a moment before turning back to the screen.

AWOL-Apparently he’s still working on it. No doubt he’s trying to come up with more promos where he decides he’s not working for the Brat Pack anymore despite the fact that he is, in fact, working with them every week, or at least pretending to. I would wonder why no one in the Brat Pack has pointed out this obvious contradiction, but I’ve faced them the last two weeks, so I’m well aware that they are barely even cognizant of their surroundings. We’ll check in on Adams later. I’m sure whatever he’s coming up with will be brilliant.

He toggles some more controls, bringing up another screen.

AWOL-As to you, Porno Lad, I’ve been waiting for a match with you for awhile now. I appear to have hit a nerve with you by having the temerity to imply that the self proclaimed “one and only ace the man that will take this company into the next era of greatness” may, in fact, be less than the pinnacle of wrestling success that he claims to be. As a matter of fact, I out and out said that the reason I had no respect for the IWC as it stands today is because you are in it, simple as that, and had at the time somehow managed to stumble into a championship of some type. I’ll admit, I hadn’t exactly looked into you to any great depth…what the fuck do I call you exactly? Porn? Lad? Whatever. Anyway, I hadn’t looked into you at any great depth at that point in time. I just assumed that anyone who didn’t take himself serious enough to come up with a name besides Porno Lad wasn’t worth my time to take seriously as well. I don’t think you can really blame me. But boy, let me tell you, after this week, I can see that I clearly made a mistake. Check it out.

He flips some switches on the panel, activating another of the monitors.

“Porno Lad: You look hotter then Cheetra when she was all naked in the first episode of Thunder cats.

Suzie giggles and smiles in her trade mark bubbly manner

Suzie: And you look as hot as han solo in the empire strikes back.

Porno Lad: I think some one wants to be the victim of some clit diving,

Suzie: Who?

Porno Lad: Err...You..

Suzie: I do I was just complimenting you so youd go down on me later.

Porno Lad: That is what I meant. By the way awesome work on commentary on riot as usual. I had a boner several times.

Suzie: That was exactly what I was going for and to reference 80's pop culture as many times as possible.

Porno Lad: So did you check your house for ladders, black cats, broken mirrors or boys 2 men cds?

Suzie: Nope I checked everywhere maybe its a ghost that doesnt want us to have sex.”

AWOL shakes his head.

AWOL-Truly riveting. Let’s see more.

“Suzie: You know I was thinking...

Porno LAd: About?

Suzie: Are little curse did you ever make a leperchaun mad?

Porno Lad: Not to my knowledge but I do have a general distaste for the irish.

Suzie: You do want to have sex with me right?

Porno Lad: I am porno Lad Suzie I am all about sex and you are hot of course I want to have sex with you.

Suzie: Oh ok thats good I thought you had some sort of subconcious thing going on or something.

Porno Lad: No of course not Suzie being with you is the best thing that happened to me since i successfully completed my collection of golden girls dvds. I got to go to the bath room.

Suzie: Oh ok.”

AWOL’s face is twisting into a derisive smile, despite his efforts to maintain an expression of awe.

AWOL-I mean, I’ve seen some epic work in my time, but this is truly something else. And here’s one more clip.

“Katelyn: Come on don't I look hot

Katelyn whines she looked hot no question but she still was the bitch responsible for me getting my first loss. That loss was to her infact giving my credibility a total nut shot. Because you see
Katelyn isnt a wrestler well she wasnt until a couple of months ago. She has little to no talent and gets by from the help of others or just dumb luck. Or I can't forget giving referee's blow jobs
so that they will give her opponents fast counts when she happens to luck out and get a pin fall in.

Porno Lad: You look like a title stealing whore. Dont you got an Ass kicking to prepare for.

Katelyn: Don't you got one to prepare for to.

Porno Lad: No because I dont get my ass kick I kick ass. Because unlike you I have awesome no amazing no ashtonishing amazing talent. And on Riot well your nursing your wounds from Simon Cagero completely
and utterly destroy you.”

Tears are honestly starting to form at the corner of the big man’s eyes as he strains to hold back the laughter. Finally he just gives up and lets out a full on belly laugh, turning off the offensive Porno clip.

AWOL-I mean, Jesus, Porno Lad, was that last bit even English? “I don’t get my ass kick I kick ass?” Really? That’s what you’re going with? You sound like you’re in junior high. I’ve read eight grade Lit papers that gave a more persuasive argument. I honestly feel like I should apologize to the audience for replaying that, as all of their IQs have been lowered by a point just from hearing that god-awful excuse for entertainment. But no, Porno Lad, you’re right, I did make a mistake taking a cheap shot at you without bothering to check out what you can actually do. If I had looked ahead of time, I wouldn’t have bothered even mentioning your name, as you clearly aren’t worth my time or anyone else’s. All I’ve done is give you something to gripe about and given you far more air time than you deserve. So, do us all a favor Porno Lad. On the way to the ring for Riot!, get lost, crash your car, and die in a fire. We’ll all be better off for it.

AWOL flashes a shit eating grin into the camera before turning in irritation towards the closet, where the thumping has started again.

AWOL-Can I help you?

Steve-What did you hit me with? I think I need a doctor.

AWOL-I just bashed your head into the control panel. You’ll be fine.

Steve-I might have a concussion.

AWOL sighs in irritation.

AWOL-Look, the more times you interrupt me, the longer this promo’s going to be and the longer you’ll have to stay in that closet.

He shakes his head in irritation, turning back to the camera.

AWOL-Then, of course, there’s Riggs. He had this to say.

The screen reactivates, replaying some highlights of the Riggs promo from this week. We watch in rapt attention as the painted warrior’s inner workings are laid bare before our eyes. We relive the pain of his early life, the terrible suffering at the hands of a father that was clearly assembled at the stereotype factory and sent into the world of tormenting young Riggs and his sister, and the inner conflict of Riggs hearing about his sister’s cancer in the letter that is his first communication with her in years. It is all terribly sad. The irony of the girl not wanting young Riggs to wear the scary white mask, which clearly he has ignored in his present life, is not lost on us. However, as the conclusion of the promo makes it clear that Riggs does not really care about his sister, given that he’s just going to come to the match anyway, ultimately neither do we. I guess we can be happy he didn’t just hide in the rafters like he used to do when he wrestled for WCW.

AWOL-I would provide some in depth analysis of this intriguing glance into your soul, Riggs, but ultimately I’m forced to assume you didn’t bother to do the same for me. The only thing you had to say about me is that I’m “All smoke and no fire.” Apparently winning all of my matches since I came back other than one that I lost because, literally, we were beating Katelyn Buehler and Robin Brooks too hard, doesn’t qualify as having any real fire. Whatever. If you’ve got no time for me, Riggs, I’ve got no time for you. I guess I owe you and Psycho one anyways, so I’ll just give you the same sort of in-depth analysis you offered me.

He pauses for a moment, leaning in towards the camera.

AWOL-Ready? Ok, here goes. Gene Simmons called. He wants his look back.

He pauses again, for comedic effect. He blinks. It’s awkward for everyone, really.

AWOL-I would discuss Pat Evans, but frankly you’ve only entered the proceedings at the last minute and, to be honest, the fact that you’re doing a promo about helping someone with their thesis dissertation is mind boggling to me. People probably changed the channel to go watch C-SPAN rather than sit through that. And, really, are you honestly encouraging this Beth woman to put unsubstantiated data into her dissertation? Is your objective to make her fail? Because, frankly, any committee member worth their salt would catch that and burn you in your defense. If you want her to end up having to stick around for her last year or go down to a masters, then carry on, “Professor,” but for the love of god, if you’re listening Beth, don’t listen to anything else that idiot tells you.

AWOL-Which brings me, last but not least, to you Mr. Too Magnificent. You, rather than the rest of these drones, at least seem to be engaged in this match, and my hat is off to you for that. Truly, no one was more surprised than me to note that you were the one leading off the promos this week. I thought “now, here comes someone who really gets it. There’s at least one wrestler in this match that gives a shit.”

His expression darkens.

AWOL-But then, I watched what you had to say.

A dangerous gleam creeps into his eyes.

AWOL-Explain this to me, Too Magnificent. What is it exactly that you wanted to see from everyone this week? What did you want from me? You honestly have the temerity to show up and criticize what anybody else has to say? You? You’re a nobody! Despite your sudden motivation, you haven’t done a damned thing to earn even a second’s respect from me. Get this through your head: I have nothing to prove to you. I’ve got no responsibility to show up and entertain you. If I feel like doing a promo where I sit in front of the camera and pick my nose for fifteen minutes, I’ll god damn well do it and you’ll god damn well watch it, and do you know why? Because I’m a proven commodity. I’ve beaten the REAL best this company has to offer, time and again, and proven that my name deserves to be mentioned in the same breath as Johnny Kingdom and Desolation. I’ve never lost a match to Orlando Cruze. I put Johnny Kingdom on the shelf for nearly a year. I’ve beaten Daemon Frost, Hellkat, the Lethal Weapon, and every other name worth remembering that has ever stepped through the doors to the ULW or the IWC. I headline Pay-Per-Views. I’ve fought in three Weapons Lair matches, and I’ve survived. I’m a decorated competitor in every aspect of the professional wrestling game, from technical to hardcore, and next to Desolation I’m possibly the most experienced wrestler still on the pay-roll for this company today. And yet you, a fucking never-was whose only accomplishment has been forcing us to watch rip-off of Piper’s Pit for years despite the apparent fact that it truly adds nothing to the program has the fucking unmitigated gall to call ME out for making the kind of promos that I want? I mean, it’s not like your shit is “Citizen Kane” or anything. Are you out of your god-damned mind?

AWOL’s face has flushed to an ugly shade of red, contrasted by the white of his knuckles gripped the edge of the control-panel.

AWOL-No, you’re not out of your mind. I know that somebody’s pulling your strings right now, your god-damned hero Simon Cagero. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothing against Simon. I’ve got nothing for him, either, but the guy’s never really bothered me and we’ve mostly been content to ignore each other over the years. But now, since you’re teamed up with him, suddenly you find a voice? And, worse, now you’re starting to march around parroting his lines? This, sir, I cannot abide. Frankly, you are receiving possibly the opportunity of your fucking life starting today and then carrying on into the Overbooked Extravaganza. In a match as stupid and, well, overbooked as the main even at the pay-per-view even a glorified jobber like you has the chance to catch a lucky bounce and end up walking away with a title. This is your chance, and you can’t even cook up your own opinions? Instead you start tossing out that bullshit “Christian Saviour” crap that Cagero and Ackert have been mouthing off with for weeks?

He shakes his head in disgust.

AWOL-I think that’s what’s really pissing me off out of all of this, and it goes as a message to Cagero as well as you, Too Mag. There are few solid platinum rules in this business. You can run your opponent over with a half ton truck, kidnap his wife, and have sex on air in front of a live television audience and you won’t get a punishment worse than a slap on the wrist. But when you put away the fourth wall like that and start dragging things from backstage politics into the ring you have officially crossed a line. I don’t know Saviour, and I don’t even really like him, but when and if he chooses to fucking promo is his deal. You’ve got no business bitching about it on a public forum, and you’ve definitely got no call to bandy around that bullshit term about him. You’re really that worried about when he promos? You think that gives him an advantage? Bullshit. The matches get decided in the ring, bottom line. If you want to beat him, then fucking be better than him. Don’t start whining to the goddamned audience because he takes too long to fucking promo. All you do is make yourself sound like a pathetic, whiny waste of space like those pieces of shit Nash and Hall, playing sad political games to keep themselves relevant.

He’s nearly panting right now. He drums his fingers on the tabletop in irritation before leaping back into the rant.

AWOL-Fuck, you’re upset about me working with Kingdom and Hurse? You want to know why I’m with them? It’s because I respect them. Together we’re still the best assemblage of talent in the company, and to be honest it’s nice associating with people on my own level from time to time. I’m sick to death of people like you, Too Magnificent, and as slimy as Hurse and Kingdom are they’re at least smart enough to recognize my ability and associate with me as an equal. You figured out that a promo titled “Walk Away,” featuring a song titled “Walk Away,” and where my psychiatrist actually looks me in the eye and says to me “Why don’t you just walk away,” has a theme about whether or not I should walk away from the Empire? Good fucking god, I’m so glad you’re here to give us this kind of biting insight, Too Mag. It’s no wonder you’ve had such a spectacular career thus far with that sort of calculating, devious mind. Of course, you completely missed the ironic twist to it where the character I’m portraying (yeah, dickhead, I can break Kay-Fabe too) is walking away from all of what could be good in his life, IE the girl or the psychiatrist, but staying with the Empire, which speaks to the overall self-loathing and general self-destructive tendencies that I’m embodying from week to week. But you missed all that, because like every other stupid fuck that’s gotten paired off with me since I came back, you think I’m here out of some kind of deluded need for self-aggrandizement. Get it through your head. I don’t care what any of you think about me. The fans can boo. They can cheer. They can sit on their goddamned hands and do the Sudoku puzzle for all I care. As long as they keep buying tickets and pay-per-views and bringing in my pay-check week after week, I could care less. And, hey, here’s a thought, you don’t suppose my staying in a group that’s on the Empire’s level wouldn’t, perhaps, be a good way to ensure that that keeps happening, would it?

AWOL throws off a sarcastic wink, his breathing finally slowing.

AWOL-Ultimately, of course, this is all just so much bullshit. I mean, honestly, everyone in this match raise your hand if you’ve ever won the Rumble Bash.

He raises his hand.

AWOL-That’s what I thought. So fuck all of you, and fuck any idea you’ve ever had that somehow you have any right to criticize me. See you in the ring, right before I see your asses going flying out of it.

He stands up, throwing open the door of the production truck and walking out into the day. The chair spins idly in a circle from the momentum of his exit. The door slams shut, and the room sits idly silent for a moment, until finally another thump comes from the closet.

Steve-Um, hello? Can somebody let me out now?