Post by Mr. Showtime on Feb 15, 2016 17:59:52 GMT -5
At the Pure Class Wrestling front offices another board meeting was taking place. At the head of the table sat a vacant chair reserved for PCW’s acting president. The seat has sat vacant for months now, the longest stretch that PCW has ever had without a commander in chief. The remaining seats are filled with the executive board and stock holders of the world’s best wrestling association.
Around the table are all smiles and laughter. You’d think that not one of them had a care in the world. Why would they? Ratings were up and revenue was at an all-time high. Nothing like a Dillinger bloodbath to pique the interest of the mass public. They might as well have had their rolls of money out counting to see who has the most. It was disgusting.
From within the room they heard a commotion in the lobby. Someone was thoroughly angry and was taking it out on the poor receptionist. They could only guess that she was denying access to their meeting, a guess that was completely accurate.
“It’s about time,” casually spoke Luis Malave. The rest of the table gave him a curious look as he leaned back in his chair. It wasn’t long before they knew the reason for the uproar in the atrium. A foot was strategically placed directly at the door’s handle and latch. The frame exploded sending shards of wood across the room. The majority of the stake holders covered from the danger minus Luis and Skylar Marshall.
“Consider this a mutiny fellas,” came the harsh voice of “Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght. He had a little bit of sweat on his brow, which he wiped away as he took a few steps towards the group of men. “It’s a regular hot dog cart in here, huh?”
“You can’t just barge in here, destroy private property and think you can get away with it,” sneered Skylar.
“Didn’t you just hear? There is a coup de grace in progress and I think it’s time that you guys quit dicking around and act. PCW has been without leadership for too long and I just don’t get what you guys have been doing up here. You’re a disgrace to the great name of PCW. Pure Class Wrestling, pfft, there isn’t a classy person between the lot of you.”
“How dare you,” bellowed Skylar.
“Quite Skylar, Michael the floor is yours,” calmly replied Luis.
“Excuse me?” Showtime asked, a bit in shock that Luis was allowing him to talk. The two had not been on the best terms since the last time Showtime staged a coup.
“Well you’ve always seemed an intelligent individual, Michael. I assume you did just burst in here to see Herbert shit his pants. So again I say, the floor in yours.”
“Perfect…Thank you,” stammered Showtime as he was trying to calm himself. “It’s time you all decide on who the next acting President of Pure Class Wrestling and appoint him or her before it is too late. Already you’ve seen what happened when there is no leadership. People like Alexa Black are running amuck and I seem to be the only one around here that gives a damn if a card is booked.”
“A bit ironic that you use her as an example, instead of you and Phinehas Grimm. If I’m not mistaken you two are solely responsible for sidelining Justin Michaels,” smugly replied Skylar.
“Go fuck yourself,” responded Showtime, still amped up.
“It’s a fair point,” concurred Luis.
“You all know that Stormm’s injuries were an accident, hell even he knows that. It’s not in our best interests to remove Stormm from the collective equation. Now it leaves only Phinehas and myself as sole members of the Black Hand. No one is all that fond of us and we enjoy the numbers game we’ve had on our side. But tell me why people like Nathan Saniti are coming to me to boo their matches?”
“That is a position you put yourself in by starting to add stipulations to matches,” added Luis.
“No, that’s a position that you put me in, because there hasn’t been anyone there for anyone to go to. They come to me because they have no place else to go. Especially when you lock yourselves in here behind a sweet faced receptionist that I now owe flowers for the scene I caused out there.”
“How can you make time to run PCW with you being an active wrestler and running for President of the United States?” asked a random member of the board.
“Hell as long as you appoint anyone but Skylar to the position I’d be happy. I’m not sure how many chances he needs to have that title stripped from him. In all honesty I’d prefer you all to appoint Luis back to the position, but seriously I’ll take anyone,” replied Showtime.
Luis looked Showtime dead in the eyes and asked, “Last time you held this position you tried to appoint yourself the World Champion. How do we know you won’t do the same this time around?”
“Does it fricking matter? I’m not giving up my ring time to take the reins if that’s what you want to hear. You are already down some of your best superstars, the last thing you need is for me to take a step back. But in all honesty the only thing around here I haven’t done is win the Icemann Invitational Tournament. Obviously I would enter myself into that, but otherwise there is no reason I would need to do anything unscrupulous.”
“Kaard’s going to kick your ass this week,” added Skylar.
“There’s no need for that,” cut in Luis.
“I don’t understand why you are bitter with me, Skylar. It was you that chose Justin over me, and like I warned he screwed you over. I did everything I could to dominate PCW, but you didn’t like the fact I handpicked Marshall’s Law. You had to go and ruin everything by adding Kaard to the fold. Hell you might still be president now if you had made the right choice, and none of us would be here. I have no problem stomping a mud hole in that ungrateful bastard. Since you brought it up.”
“I think that’s about enough,” said Luis.
“I’m not finished,” stated Showtime.
“Yes you are,” Luis snapped back as he stood from his chair. “All in favor in appointing Michael Wryght to the position of Pure Class Wresting President raise their hand.” To Showtime’s surprise everyone rose their hand, including Skylar. Showtime never expected this sort of support from the board, particularly Skylar.
Luis Malave motioned to the only empty seat and said, “If you would Mr. President, I think there is some business we’d lie to attend to.
Around the table are all smiles and laughter. You’d think that not one of them had a care in the world. Why would they? Ratings were up and revenue was at an all-time high. Nothing like a Dillinger bloodbath to pique the interest of the mass public. They might as well have had their rolls of money out counting to see who has the most. It was disgusting.
From within the room they heard a commotion in the lobby. Someone was thoroughly angry and was taking it out on the poor receptionist. They could only guess that she was denying access to their meeting, a guess that was completely accurate.
“It’s about time,” casually spoke Luis Malave. The rest of the table gave him a curious look as he leaned back in his chair. It wasn’t long before they knew the reason for the uproar in the atrium. A foot was strategically placed directly at the door’s handle and latch. The frame exploded sending shards of wood across the room. The majority of the stake holders covered from the danger minus Luis and Skylar Marshall.
“Consider this a mutiny fellas,” came the harsh voice of “Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght. He had a little bit of sweat on his brow, which he wiped away as he took a few steps towards the group of men. “It’s a regular hot dog cart in here, huh?”
“You can’t just barge in here, destroy private property and think you can get away with it,” sneered Skylar.
“Didn’t you just hear? There is a coup de grace in progress and I think it’s time that you guys quit dicking around and act. PCW has been without leadership for too long and I just don’t get what you guys have been doing up here. You’re a disgrace to the great name of PCW. Pure Class Wrestling, pfft, there isn’t a classy person between the lot of you.”
“How dare you,” bellowed Skylar.
“Quite Skylar, Michael the floor is yours,” calmly replied Luis.
“Excuse me?” Showtime asked, a bit in shock that Luis was allowing him to talk. The two had not been on the best terms since the last time Showtime staged a coup.
“Well you’ve always seemed an intelligent individual, Michael. I assume you did just burst in here to see Herbert shit his pants. So again I say, the floor in yours.”
“Perfect…Thank you,” stammered Showtime as he was trying to calm himself. “It’s time you all decide on who the next acting President of Pure Class Wrestling and appoint him or her before it is too late. Already you’ve seen what happened when there is no leadership. People like Alexa Black are running amuck and I seem to be the only one around here that gives a damn if a card is booked.”
“A bit ironic that you use her as an example, instead of you and Phinehas Grimm. If I’m not mistaken you two are solely responsible for sidelining Justin Michaels,” smugly replied Skylar.
“Go fuck yourself,” responded Showtime, still amped up.
“It’s a fair point,” concurred Luis.
“You all know that Stormm’s injuries were an accident, hell even he knows that. It’s not in our best interests to remove Stormm from the collective equation. Now it leaves only Phinehas and myself as sole members of the Black Hand. No one is all that fond of us and we enjoy the numbers game we’ve had on our side. But tell me why people like Nathan Saniti are coming to me to boo their matches?”
“That is a position you put yourself in by starting to add stipulations to matches,” added Luis.
“No, that’s a position that you put me in, because there hasn’t been anyone there for anyone to go to. They come to me because they have no place else to go. Especially when you lock yourselves in here behind a sweet faced receptionist that I now owe flowers for the scene I caused out there.”
“How can you make time to run PCW with you being an active wrestler and running for President of the United States?” asked a random member of the board.
“Hell as long as you appoint anyone but Skylar to the position I’d be happy. I’m not sure how many chances he needs to have that title stripped from him. In all honesty I’d prefer you all to appoint Luis back to the position, but seriously I’ll take anyone,” replied Showtime.
Luis looked Showtime dead in the eyes and asked, “Last time you held this position you tried to appoint yourself the World Champion. How do we know you won’t do the same this time around?”
“Does it fricking matter? I’m not giving up my ring time to take the reins if that’s what you want to hear. You are already down some of your best superstars, the last thing you need is for me to take a step back. But in all honesty the only thing around here I haven’t done is win the Icemann Invitational Tournament. Obviously I would enter myself into that, but otherwise there is no reason I would need to do anything unscrupulous.”
“Kaard’s going to kick your ass this week,” added Skylar.
“There’s no need for that,” cut in Luis.
“I don’t understand why you are bitter with me, Skylar. It was you that chose Justin over me, and like I warned he screwed you over. I did everything I could to dominate PCW, but you didn’t like the fact I handpicked Marshall’s Law. You had to go and ruin everything by adding Kaard to the fold. Hell you might still be president now if you had made the right choice, and none of us would be here. I have no problem stomping a mud hole in that ungrateful bastard. Since you brought it up.”
“I think that’s about enough,” said Luis.
“I’m not finished,” stated Showtime.
“Yes you are,” Luis snapped back as he stood from his chair. “All in favor in appointing Michael Wryght to the position of Pure Class Wresting President raise their hand.” To Showtime’s surprise everyone rose their hand, including Skylar. Showtime never expected this sort of support from the board, particularly Skylar.
Luis Malave motioned to the only empty seat and said, “If you would Mr. President, I think there is some business we’d lie to attend to.
