Post by Mr. Showtime on Jan 15, 2016 22:34:08 GMT -5
The word origami derives from the Japanese words ori, meaning folding, and kami, meaning paper. It is the art of taking a plain piece of paper and turning it into something extravagant. A beginner, on their first try, would be able to make a myriad of different objects and animals, and experts are able to make true works of art. Be it a crane, star or whatever they are nothing more than folded paper dressed up.
“Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght was bored. He sat in his office and started to futz around with the white printer paper from the tray. He learned this ancient Asian art as a child. He was seasoned, but no expert, though he was able to remember how to do a few different designs without any instructions. He was in the process of creating his third crane of the night. He folded the paper over upon itself while looking down at the other two. Also on his desk were a few other creations; a polo shirt, three different types of stars, a flat elephant whose ears stuck out.
He was supposed to be working on some research for an upcoming town hall meeting his camp had set up, but he was not in any mood. The campaign was wearing on his nerves since none of his competition was willing to meet in a debate. An independent doesn’t get a chance to debate against the sponsored party candidates. It was the fickle game that politicians played. They claim to be working for the greater good, but the moment someone shows up to topple the apple cart they hide behind the rules they put in place to protect themselves. It was so obvious that it actually made Showtime sick.
He pulls the tail of his crane and adjusts the head. This one completed his trio as he grabbed another piece of paper. He looked down at the origami birds and said, “Regardless how you look it doesn’t make you any less fake.”
He grinned and looked around. He never knew when someone would show up out of the shadows. He half expected the cigarette smoking man to razz him for losing his mind. The comment was innocent enough and the air remained pure. Showtime was still alone with his thoughts as he tangled the blank page in his hand. His mind wondered into the world of Pure Class Wrestling. It had its own politics, but at least he understood how they worked there. And if he didn’t he could just beat the hell out of the person he disagreed with. Simple.
Though for the most part everyone in PCW still looked at him the way he was when he returned. He was fresh off of his Hollywood success. He returned home a delusional fool. This was before the Black Hand. Before his mind was tormented in a way he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, even though at the time that was precisely who put him through his torment. This was when the sense of entitlement still drove Showtime, and why not? He had acquired nothing but success, and it all seemed as if his lucky streak would never end.
Instead of signing on for the next big movie he decided to take some time off to return to wrestling. Not only for wrestling, but to actually run the company that escalated his popularity. Now he found himself a very different man, but in a similar spot. Of course there was a sense of ego folded into that first stint, but even if no one believed it this time he did it for the company. He wasn’t asking for any recognition, though no one actually asked him to step in to help. It didn’t matter. He owed it to Pure Class Wrestling to not let incompetence sink the ship.
Already the roster had begun to dwindle. Eira stepping down would eventually be a huge hit to the federation. She was an extremely strong competitor that could hold her own against the best of them. Wrestlers may come and go, but those that have “it” are hard to come by. He would never admit it publically, and it didn’t change the fact that he felt cheated. Eira and Murdoc’s appearance at the Icey’s was infuriating. Showtime was ready for a fight. After the way he was disrespected at the pay-per-view he was ready to stomp a mud hole into the silver haired vixen. At least Murdoc could have manned up and fought his woman’s battle.
His frustration began to grow. He crumpled up the paper in his hand and threw it into the waste paper basket in the corner. He grabbed a fresh sheet and began to fold again. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to make, but it would find its way into a shape eventually. He touched the corners and began to brood a bit more.
He hated how hard this game of cat and mouse was when you cared what everyone thought. Phinehas and William didn’t seem to get it and Justin was MIA. Which left Showtime alone trying to raise the Black Hand banner on his own. They had all decided that it would be best if they started to soften their personalities. It was no secret that it was most important to Showtime out of the gaggle of them. In reality it would be impossible to be elected president if you were hated by the majority of the country. But what did Wryght know, Trump was probably the most hated man in America and he was leading the GOP nomination. He could have stuck with the old ways and been picked up as a Republican. He chuckled at that thought, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did.
He hated that he was stuck in this office and knew that with success that it would only get worse. He was in a tough spot being forced to run of an office that he didn’t actually want. He knew that he had no choice and that there was a real need for him to see this through. It was the American people’s job to choose the right candidate. It actually terrified him to think that he would probably be running against Clinton and Trump. They were both such bad options that he was likely to win by default.
At least he had until July to really know who would be those running against him, and for the mean time he could keep busy with campaigning and wrestling. After all Rhodes was his next opponent, well before Clinton and Trump would even consider talking about him.
The paper in his hand had begun to take shape as he thought of the trash man. The two may not have been feuding over the last few years, but they’ve had their share of battles. World titles won and lost. Tournament disappointment and elations. Other titles won by one, but not the other. It really bother Showtime on everyone’s initial acceptance of Sean Rhodes as the North American Champion. He figured that it was due to their familiarity to him holding the belt. It could be considered his security blanket.
It really didn’t matter who won their upcoming contest. They had both been victorious over the other. If one went to victory this time the other was likely to score the next tally at their inevitable next meeting. It didn’t change the fact that Showtime still considered himself the rightful owner of the North American title. Mentis, Eira and Kaard all lost that match. He held his stance that it was ridiculous that they needed more than one victor in that match. The confusion of the contracts only made it worse.
Showtime came off as the heel in that transaction, but the temper tantrums that the so called superstars took afterwards was embarrassing. All pointing fingers at Showtime as if he stole something that wasn’t meant to be theirs away. Instead they all got their way, kicking and screaming, leaving Showtime with no chance to defend what he won. Instead they let a bunch of unworthy fighters squabble amongst themselves to claim a title that would never truly be theirs.
Showtime grabbed a pen from the desk drawer and drew two letters on his latest creation. He placed it on his desk and admired his handy work. It was a little title belt with the letters “N.A.” written in the center.
“You know what they call it when you become a champion without beating the person who is actually champion?” he asked no one. “It makes you a paper champion, or maybe in this case an origami champion.”
He wished Mentis was there to hear him. NCM was always someone that Showtime could get under their skin. He knew that this title would rub old Sean the wrong way. What made it worse was the truth of the designation.
“Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght was bored. He sat in his office and started to futz around with the white printer paper from the tray. He learned this ancient Asian art as a child. He was seasoned, but no expert, though he was able to remember how to do a few different designs without any instructions. He was in the process of creating his third crane of the night. He folded the paper over upon itself while looking down at the other two. Also on his desk were a few other creations; a polo shirt, three different types of stars, a flat elephant whose ears stuck out.
He was supposed to be working on some research for an upcoming town hall meeting his camp had set up, but he was not in any mood. The campaign was wearing on his nerves since none of his competition was willing to meet in a debate. An independent doesn’t get a chance to debate against the sponsored party candidates. It was the fickle game that politicians played. They claim to be working for the greater good, but the moment someone shows up to topple the apple cart they hide behind the rules they put in place to protect themselves. It was so obvious that it actually made Showtime sick.
He pulls the tail of his crane and adjusts the head. This one completed his trio as he grabbed another piece of paper. He looked down at the origami birds and said, “Regardless how you look it doesn’t make you any less fake.”
He grinned and looked around. He never knew when someone would show up out of the shadows. He half expected the cigarette smoking man to razz him for losing his mind. The comment was innocent enough and the air remained pure. Showtime was still alone with his thoughts as he tangled the blank page in his hand. His mind wondered into the world of Pure Class Wrestling. It had its own politics, but at least he understood how they worked there. And if he didn’t he could just beat the hell out of the person he disagreed with. Simple.
Though for the most part everyone in PCW still looked at him the way he was when he returned. He was fresh off of his Hollywood success. He returned home a delusional fool. This was before the Black Hand. Before his mind was tormented in a way he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy, even though at the time that was precisely who put him through his torment. This was when the sense of entitlement still drove Showtime, and why not? He had acquired nothing but success, and it all seemed as if his lucky streak would never end.
Instead of signing on for the next big movie he decided to take some time off to return to wrestling. Not only for wrestling, but to actually run the company that escalated his popularity. Now he found himself a very different man, but in a similar spot. Of course there was a sense of ego folded into that first stint, but even if no one believed it this time he did it for the company. He wasn’t asking for any recognition, though no one actually asked him to step in to help. It didn’t matter. He owed it to Pure Class Wrestling to not let incompetence sink the ship.
Already the roster had begun to dwindle. Eira stepping down would eventually be a huge hit to the federation. She was an extremely strong competitor that could hold her own against the best of them. Wrestlers may come and go, but those that have “it” are hard to come by. He would never admit it publically, and it didn’t change the fact that he felt cheated. Eira and Murdoc’s appearance at the Icey’s was infuriating. Showtime was ready for a fight. After the way he was disrespected at the pay-per-view he was ready to stomp a mud hole into the silver haired vixen. At least Murdoc could have manned up and fought his woman’s battle.
His frustration began to grow. He crumpled up the paper in his hand and threw it into the waste paper basket in the corner. He grabbed a fresh sheet and began to fold again. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to make, but it would find its way into a shape eventually. He touched the corners and began to brood a bit more.
He hated how hard this game of cat and mouse was when you cared what everyone thought. Phinehas and William didn’t seem to get it and Justin was MIA. Which left Showtime alone trying to raise the Black Hand banner on his own. They had all decided that it would be best if they started to soften their personalities. It was no secret that it was most important to Showtime out of the gaggle of them. In reality it would be impossible to be elected president if you were hated by the majority of the country. But what did Wryght know, Trump was probably the most hated man in America and he was leading the GOP nomination. He could have stuck with the old ways and been picked up as a Republican. He chuckled at that thought, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did.
He hated that he was stuck in this office and knew that with success that it would only get worse. He was in a tough spot being forced to run of an office that he didn’t actually want. He knew that he had no choice and that there was a real need for him to see this through. It was the American people’s job to choose the right candidate. It actually terrified him to think that he would probably be running against Clinton and Trump. They were both such bad options that he was likely to win by default.
At least he had until July to really know who would be those running against him, and for the mean time he could keep busy with campaigning and wrestling. After all Rhodes was his next opponent, well before Clinton and Trump would even consider talking about him.
The paper in his hand had begun to take shape as he thought of the trash man. The two may not have been feuding over the last few years, but they’ve had their share of battles. World titles won and lost. Tournament disappointment and elations. Other titles won by one, but not the other. It really bother Showtime on everyone’s initial acceptance of Sean Rhodes as the North American Champion. He figured that it was due to their familiarity to him holding the belt. It could be considered his security blanket.
It really didn’t matter who won their upcoming contest. They had both been victorious over the other. If one went to victory this time the other was likely to score the next tally at their inevitable next meeting. It didn’t change the fact that Showtime still considered himself the rightful owner of the North American title. Mentis, Eira and Kaard all lost that match. He held his stance that it was ridiculous that they needed more than one victor in that match. The confusion of the contracts only made it worse.
Showtime came off as the heel in that transaction, but the temper tantrums that the so called superstars took afterwards was embarrassing. All pointing fingers at Showtime as if he stole something that wasn’t meant to be theirs away. Instead they all got their way, kicking and screaming, leaving Showtime with no chance to defend what he won. Instead they let a bunch of unworthy fighters squabble amongst themselves to claim a title that would never truly be theirs.
Showtime grabbed a pen from the desk drawer and drew two letters on his latest creation. He placed it on his desk and admired his handy work. It was a little title belt with the letters “N.A.” written in the center.
“You know what they call it when you become a champion without beating the person who is actually champion?” he asked no one. “It makes you a paper champion, or maybe in this case an origami champion.”
He wished Mentis was there to hear him. NCM was always someone that Showtime could get under their skin. He knew that this title would rub old Sean the wrong way. What made it worse was the truth of the designation.
