Post by Grimm on Mar 24, 2016 9:39:59 GMT -5
The following footage was discovered on a VHS tape buried under the foundation of a burned-out bourbon distillery along the banks of the Licking River in central Kentucky:
…immediately following Mass Destruction…
Michael Wryght sits in the PCW President’s office, behind its immense mahogany desk, and stamps page after page of Very Important Documentation. A pile several inches high has already accumulated to his left. As he continues his presidential task, Phinehas Dillinger (that’s Grimm to you) slings open the door and stomps up to him. Still dressed in his wrestling clothes, he stands with fists clinched at his side.
“Did you see what just happened out there?”
Wryght continues adding to the pile of paper. He replies without looking up.
“I certainly did, and I have to say I’m disappointed in you, Phinehas. That was quite the hissy fit you threw out there.”
Phinehas narrows his eyes.
“Well…maybe so. But that’s not what I’m talking about. And you know it.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Grimm places his hands on the desk and leans forward. Sweat drips off his hair and stains a few sheets of scattered pages. Wryght wrinkles his nose and moves them out of range.
“These officials, Mike. These counts. It’s one thing when it’s just a plain ol’ match with Non Compos Mentis, but this was for my World Title. And with a kickout at the last second they give Kaard the benefit of the doubt over me?”
Wryght puts the stamp on top of the pile, closes his eyes, and leans back in his chair with a deep sigh.
“Phinehas…I watched the match. I watch every match. I understand your concerns…”
“Do you?”
“I understand your concerns, but I have to stand behind my staff. Sure it was close, but they use their professional judgment out there. I can’t be second-guessing and micromanaging everything around here.”
Grimm leans in a little further.
“I’m not trying to undermine this little empire you’ve cobbled together, Mikey, so knock it off. I know as well as anyone how…flexible you can be with the rules. And I also know there’s no way I just legitimately lost that title out there. I’d hate to hold you responsible for this.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I don’t threaten people. But I advise you to make this right.”
Wryght rubs his temples.
“Fine. How about this…next week you get to face Kaard…”
Grimm stands up with a nod.
“…and Non Compos Mentis in a triple threat match. That’s the best I can do right now.”
“Fair enough. Just make sure everything is on the up-and-up during the match. That display you just saw will be nothing compared to what happens if there’s any more of this fast-count, tie-goes-to-the-challenger bullcrap.”
“Of course, Phinehas. And who knows. If you do well next week and play your cards right, you may get another chance at that title a lot sooner than you expect.”
Phinehas tilts his head towards Wryght and spins on his heels to exit. Michael shakes his head and returns to his paperwork.
…immediately following Mass Destruction…
Michael Wryght sits in the PCW President’s office, behind its immense mahogany desk, and stamps page after page of Very Important Documentation. A pile several inches high has already accumulated to his left. As he continues his presidential task, Phinehas Dillinger (that’s Grimm to you) slings open the door and stomps up to him. Still dressed in his wrestling clothes, he stands with fists clinched at his side.
“Did you see what just happened out there?”
Wryght continues adding to the pile of paper. He replies without looking up.
“I certainly did, and I have to say I’m disappointed in you, Phinehas. That was quite the hissy fit you threw out there.”
Phinehas narrows his eyes.
“Well…maybe so. But that’s not what I’m talking about. And you know it.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Grimm places his hands on the desk and leans forward. Sweat drips off his hair and stains a few sheets of scattered pages. Wryght wrinkles his nose and moves them out of range.
“These officials, Mike. These counts. It’s one thing when it’s just a plain ol’ match with Non Compos Mentis, but this was for my World Title. And with a kickout at the last second they give Kaard the benefit of the doubt over me?”
Wryght puts the stamp on top of the pile, closes his eyes, and leans back in his chair with a deep sigh.
“Phinehas…I watched the match. I watch every match. I understand your concerns…”
“Do you?”
“I understand your concerns, but I have to stand behind my staff. Sure it was close, but they use their professional judgment out there. I can’t be second-guessing and micromanaging everything around here.”
Grimm leans in a little further.
“I’m not trying to undermine this little empire you’ve cobbled together, Mikey, so knock it off. I know as well as anyone how…flexible you can be with the rules. And I also know there’s no way I just legitimately lost that title out there. I’d hate to hold you responsible for this.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I don’t threaten people. But I advise you to make this right.”
Wryght rubs his temples.
“Fine. How about this…next week you get to face Kaard…”
Grimm stands up with a nod.
“…and Non Compos Mentis in a triple threat match. That’s the best I can do right now.”
“Fair enough. Just make sure everything is on the up-and-up during the match. That display you just saw will be nothing compared to what happens if there’s any more of this fast-count, tie-goes-to-the-challenger bullcrap.”
“Of course, Phinehas. And who knows. If you do well next week and play your cards right, you may get another chance at that title a lot sooner than you expect.”
Phinehas tilts his head towards Wryght and spins on his heels to exit. Michael shakes his head and returns to his paperwork.