Shot Heard Round the World

by Childish Meltzer Sat Jul 01, 2017 11:08 am

A disheveled arena public restroom, with a grungy tile floor and light beige stalls that have been adorned with gouges and gashes from thoughtless and untalented vandals. The ceiling is missing tiles from water damage, and looking above reveals the dusty ventilation systems of the building.

In the middle stall, Chet Taylor sits on a dingy dirty toilet, covering up the scent of stale urine with the smell of cigarette smoke. He takes a deep and thorough hit, spreading a cloud through the room. The cigarette is dangling from between his lips, he acknowledges the camera's presence with a chuckle that sends the cancer stick bouncing.
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Chet Taylor
Alas, on the eve of my next triumph I speak to the very community that pays my bills and sickens me to my stomach. A great bit of disembodied voices crying out, "why? oh why?" and my heinous cackle shatters the night. It isn't the first or last time my motives have been questioned, and I think my rhetoric should be obvious...but the difference in philosophy once again proves the intelligence of the average wrestling crowd.

The huddled masses ponder "why?", I think perhaps it was myself looking after mine own interest, for you see, I have only one purpose on Intensity... I came back to this company to claim the piece of property that is truly, rightfully mine. Of course some disagree, but there is no dispute and I will always win...but as I have said before, I demand that I win in style and I have my reasons. I want to show CMV, to prove to the fans and the brass their errors in booking. It is my prerogative to irrevocably set the bar and show, once and for all, that this company is still capable of impressive matches. I've seen cock fighters with more gusto than half our roster, and chess games with more intense conflict!
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Taylor stands, popping off the dirty toilet seat. He flushes, even though he didn't even use it but perhaps more out of principle than any palpable need. He moves over to the mirror, blowing smoke at his own reflection from between his clenched lips.

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Chet Taylor
I am your Reverend Jim, I am your Charles Manson, I now hold in my hand the force of the undying cultists and the undead martyrs. This is a martyrdom, an ascension to the pyre as this company dies for a greater cause, the cause of making the necessary dream perpetual! At the foot of this turmoil, at the end of this conflict stands I and my charges atop a mountain of rubble, the great behemoth that was once Intensity, with I as the eternal champion of all wrestling! And why, why this great genocide for the actualization of one being?! Well, it is simple…it is as I wish it.

We are the anarchists, and we will shatter the bonds of this autocratic wasteland to bring forth sweet chaos, an everlasting wave of nothingness that will be separated, cultivated, championed and then destroyed. When the mist is gone and the dust clears, most will be dead in career and in heart, and the handfull of strong will stand, whether standing with or against me. It is inconsequential.

For anarchy to rule, we must first destroy the establishment because screw your establishment. This is the beginning of a great war, and now is the time for the shot heard round the world.
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Chet Taylor steps out of the bathroom where Douglas and Raze have been outside waiting, turning off the lights and shutting the door. The screen goes black.