Two Showtime Are Better Than One!?!?
Mar 27, 2016 21:14:00 GMT -5
Grimm, Cory Steel, and 1 more like this
Post by Mr. Showtime on Mar 27, 2016 21:14:00 GMT -5
Clink! It was the sound of another empty bottle of scotch falling into the waste basket. People deal with their issues in different ways. Some plot out solutions, while others open up to loved ones. There was only one way “Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght could handle the magnitude of his current situation. Drink. A lot.
Over the last year plus, Showtime had abstained from drinking. He wasn’t an alcoholic. Far from it. He went through a sort of metamorphosis at the hands of The Black Hand and Phinehas Grimm. Though Phinehas didn’t know who he was working for at the time or the consequences of his actions they occurred all the same. If asked Showtime would probably say he came out of it a better man; he was always an opportunist.
The fact of the matter was that he hated his current situation. He despised what the Hand had turned him into. A puppet for their amusement, he’d scoff. No matter the path that they put in front of him he saluted and followed blindly. He drank the Kool-Aid. He truly believed that they were setting him up to make a difference; all for the greater good. Only to be betrayed.
Now that they showed their hand he understood what they had in mind. He was a preventative measure. They knew that this presidential election could be a turning point in American history. If Donald Trump should somehow win, we might be looking at a repeated heinous acts committed onto persecuted races we always seem to forget about. Native Americans, African, Japanese, and next Muslims? It couldn’t be allowed to happen. The potential of camps popping up or extremists targeting US cities after the Donald fire bombed innocent women and children. It’d be hell on Earth.
It was a lot for one man to have to handle. He was the speed bump in the campaign; that was all. He was sure that their philosophy on Bernie Sanders wasn’t too far off either. Showtime could probably take just enough vote off of the wild card in the election to make sure that we kept the status quo. The two men had similar agenda items. All three were clearly antiestablishment, enough so to let Hilary give everyone eight more years of slavery to the upper ruling class. It might as well just turn into an oligarchy.
Once the Hand had their way with Showtime, he’d be able to live a happy life. He was sure that the movie deals would start rolling in after the election was over. They had already begun, even before his campaign truly got off the ground. All of it was a cruel joke, and Showtime had the honor of being the punchline.
Though there was one thing that kept Showtime from giving it all up. It was something the anonymous cigarette smoking man had said after Showtime bashed Trump on his webcast. He mentioned that if Showtime actually claimed the presidency then it would be best for everyone. That comment haunted him. It was what kept him up countless nights, looking for answers in the bottom of each of those bottles. It meant that they might be rooting for him and just figured he had no chance.
They probably weren’t that far off. He was a professional wrestler, actor and businessman. This was not a cocktail that screamed success. There are clips upon clips of video showing Wryght doing terrible acts. Cowardice acts, claims of secret society membership, and not to mention having his face gouged by a piece of glass. Any candidate that he ran against would probably have a field day with this content. They wouldn’t care if it were true as long and it took credibility away from the Wryght campaign.
With all of this tearing at Showtime’s soul it didn’t leave much time for him to worry about the other things on his plate. Running Pure Class Wrestling or wrestling itself were all full time jobs, while running for president was equivalent to three. He was way over his head and it seemed that all of his friends had abandoned him. Sadistic was gone. Stormm was calling him out in interviews. And worst of all the only one left, Phinehas, was demanding retribution for a title he may or may not have rightfully lost. It was almost like the last two years never happened.
“But they did happen, didn’t they,” came a voice, slightly familiar and slightly terrifying. Showtime aggressively gulped down another glass of scotch and slowly brought his eyes level with the man now sitting across from him. At first it looked as if L. Frank Baum’s Scarecrow had his feet on Showtime’s rich mahogany desk. Wryght wiped the blur out of his eyes and poured himself another glass. He presented the bottle to his new guest and he replied, “You’ve seemed to have had enough for the two of us.”
“You’re the reason I stopped drinking this shit,” he said, as he slurred his words. His vision distorted and refocused as he got a better look at his company. The man had wild red hair that attempted, but failed, to look tame and wore a suit that might be what a scarecrow would wear to his wedding day. It was a strange burlap texture with an oversized red bowtie. He lowered his sunglasses revealing one emerald green eye and one that was crystal blue. It was what Showtime thought the combination of Phinehas Grimm and Showtime looked like. It was the man that he had been poisoned into becoming, and ultimately broke him.
“Well, we can call it my bat signal than.”
“I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“That was true once. I partook in a hostile takeover of your psyche to a point where you were nothing more than a confused voice in that pretty little head of yours. We did great things together though.”
“But it backfired on you didn’t it?”
“Sure, but at the end of the day I still exist, where I didn’t before. You were able to become your new and better self, and I was pushed back into the recesses of your mind. I won’t lie, I deserved it. I was trying to destroy you just as much as you were me. And yet here we find ourselves, equals.”
“You are not my equal. I am the one in charge here.”
“I’d like to disagree. Tonight you would fall under my control. I could do something terrible, which would force you to try to crush me again and sweep me under some hypothetical rug. It wouldn’t really work out for either of us though. You would of course regret your actions and have to deal with the repercussions of my actions; whilst I miss out on an opportunity at life.”
“What are you getting at?” asked Showtime, slugging down more of his brown elixir. He was weary, but had drank enough to listen.
“The way I see it you’ve bitten off more than you can chew, which is probably just as much my fault as it is yours. With all of that I think that you could use some help. Last time we were highly successful whist fighting each other, so we’d probably be unstoppable as one cohesive unit. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t want you anywhere near this presidential campaign,” declared Showtime, slamming his glass down like a gavel, spilling his expensive scotch everywhere.
“Well no fucking duh,” taunted Showtime’s inner self. “If you think I want anything to do with that than you’re crazier than you look right now talking to yourself. Though there are other areas that I can be of assistance. More, shall I say, violent areas. Maybe you let me take care of business with Nathan Saniti this week.”
“Hatpins,” Showtime hissed.
“With a man like that a little extra insanity could come in handy. You’re clearly distracted and not in any shape to compete at the level that Nathan will command. I, on the other hand, have nothing else to live for. I’m a sick twisted figment of your imagination and the perfect person to unleash on the unsuspecting wizard. You have enough built up aggression towards this man for me to fuel my fire. The way he broke Sadistic. The way he’s shackled Kelli. Hatpins…”
“Hatpins,” Showtime growled and slurred simultaneously.
“Give me a chance and extend my leash. I promise you that you will only benefit from this accord. Worst comes to worst, you just stop dropping your mental guard and I go back into the darkest regions of your mind. What do you really have to lose?”
Showtime’s reality started to slip. He could see the sadistic smile across the Scarecrow’s face. In the blur he also saw himself clashing glasses with himself in agreement. Maybe two Showtime were better than one, or maybe this was his something terrible.
Over the last year plus, Showtime had abstained from drinking. He wasn’t an alcoholic. Far from it. He went through a sort of metamorphosis at the hands of The Black Hand and Phinehas Grimm. Though Phinehas didn’t know who he was working for at the time or the consequences of his actions they occurred all the same. If asked Showtime would probably say he came out of it a better man; he was always an opportunist.
The fact of the matter was that he hated his current situation. He despised what the Hand had turned him into. A puppet for their amusement, he’d scoff. No matter the path that they put in front of him he saluted and followed blindly. He drank the Kool-Aid. He truly believed that they were setting him up to make a difference; all for the greater good. Only to be betrayed.
Now that they showed their hand he understood what they had in mind. He was a preventative measure. They knew that this presidential election could be a turning point in American history. If Donald Trump should somehow win, we might be looking at a repeated heinous acts committed onto persecuted races we always seem to forget about. Native Americans, African, Japanese, and next Muslims? It couldn’t be allowed to happen. The potential of camps popping up or extremists targeting US cities after the Donald fire bombed innocent women and children. It’d be hell on Earth.
It was a lot for one man to have to handle. He was the speed bump in the campaign; that was all. He was sure that their philosophy on Bernie Sanders wasn’t too far off either. Showtime could probably take just enough vote off of the wild card in the election to make sure that we kept the status quo. The two men had similar agenda items. All three were clearly antiestablishment, enough so to let Hilary give everyone eight more years of slavery to the upper ruling class. It might as well just turn into an oligarchy.
Once the Hand had their way with Showtime, he’d be able to live a happy life. He was sure that the movie deals would start rolling in after the election was over. They had already begun, even before his campaign truly got off the ground. All of it was a cruel joke, and Showtime had the honor of being the punchline.
Though there was one thing that kept Showtime from giving it all up. It was something the anonymous cigarette smoking man had said after Showtime bashed Trump on his webcast. He mentioned that if Showtime actually claimed the presidency then it would be best for everyone. That comment haunted him. It was what kept him up countless nights, looking for answers in the bottom of each of those bottles. It meant that they might be rooting for him and just figured he had no chance.
They probably weren’t that far off. He was a professional wrestler, actor and businessman. This was not a cocktail that screamed success. There are clips upon clips of video showing Wryght doing terrible acts. Cowardice acts, claims of secret society membership, and not to mention having his face gouged by a piece of glass. Any candidate that he ran against would probably have a field day with this content. They wouldn’t care if it were true as long and it took credibility away from the Wryght campaign.
With all of this tearing at Showtime’s soul it didn’t leave much time for him to worry about the other things on his plate. Running Pure Class Wrestling or wrestling itself were all full time jobs, while running for president was equivalent to three. He was way over his head and it seemed that all of his friends had abandoned him. Sadistic was gone. Stormm was calling him out in interviews. And worst of all the only one left, Phinehas, was demanding retribution for a title he may or may not have rightfully lost. It was almost like the last two years never happened.
“But they did happen, didn’t they,” came a voice, slightly familiar and slightly terrifying. Showtime aggressively gulped down another glass of scotch and slowly brought his eyes level with the man now sitting across from him. At first it looked as if L. Frank Baum’s Scarecrow had his feet on Showtime’s rich mahogany desk. Wryght wiped the blur out of his eyes and poured himself another glass. He presented the bottle to his new guest and he replied, “You’ve seemed to have had enough for the two of us.”
“You’re the reason I stopped drinking this shit,” he said, as he slurred his words. His vision distorted and refocused as he got a better look at his company. The man had wild red hair that attempted, but failed, to look tame and wore a suit that might be what a scarecrow would wear to his wedding day. It was a strange burlap texture with an oversized red bowtie. He lowered his sunglasses revealing one emerald green eye and one that was crystal blue. It was what Showtime thought the combination of Phinehas Grimm and Showtime looked like. It was the man that he had been poisoned into becoming, and ultimately broke him.
“Well, we can call it my bat signal than.”
“I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“That was true once. I partook in a hostile takeover of your psyche to a point where you were nothing more than a confused voice in that pretty little head of yours. We did great things together though.”
“But it backfired on you didn’t it?”
“Sure, but at the end of the day I still exist, where I didn’t before. You were able to become your new and better self, and I was pushed back into the recesses of your mind. I won’t lie, I deserved it. I was trying to destroy you just as much as you were me. And yet here we find ourselves, equals.”
“You are not my equal. I am the one in charge here.”
“I’d like to disagree. Tonight you would fall under my control. I could do something terrible, which would force you to try to crush me again and sweep me under some hypothetical rug. It wouldn’t really work out for either of us though. You would of course regret your actions and have to deal with the repercussions of my actions; whilst I miss out on an opportunity at life.”
“What are you getting at?” asked Showtime, slugging down more of his brown elixir. He was weary, but had drank enough to listen.
“The way I see it you’ve bitten off more than you can chew, which is probably just as much my fault as it is yours. With all of that I think that you could use some help. Last time we were highly successful whist fighting each other, so we’d probably be unstoppable as one cohesive unit. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t want you anywhere near this presidential campaign,” declared Showtime, slamming his glass down like a gavel, spilling his expensive scotch everywhere.
“Well no fucking duh,” taunted Showtime’s inner self. “If you think I want anything to do with that than you’re crazier than you look right now talking to yourself. Though there are other areas that I can be of assistance. More, shall I say, violent areas. Maybe you let me take care of business with Nathan Saniti this week.”
“Hatpins,” Showtime hissed.
“With a man like that a little extra insanity could come in handy. You’re clearly distracted and not in any shape to compete at the level that Nathan will command. I, on the other hand, have nothing else to live for. I’m a sick twisted figment of your imagination and the perfect person to unleash on the unsuspecting wizard. You have enough built up aggression towards this man for me to fuel my fire. The way he broke Sadistic. The way he’s shackled Kelli. Hatpins…”
“Hatpins,” Showtime growled and slurred simultaneously.
“Give me a chance and extend my leash. I promise you that you will only benefit from this accord. Worst comes to worst, you just stop dropping your mental guard and I go back into the darkest regions of your mind. What do you really have to lose?”
Showtime’s reality started to slip. He could see the sadistic smile across the Scarecrow’s face. In the blur he also saw himself clashing glasses with himself in agreement. Maybe two Showtime were better than one, or maybe this was his something terrible.
