Post by Sadistic on Oct 27, 2015 0:30:52 GMT -5
Back before the Black Hand. Back before the Hangtown Horrors. Back before Snap Crackle Pop...
The now-defunct Southeast Wrestling Federation had been generous enough to dangle $100,000 several feet above the ring.
The match between “The Phenom” Billy Sadistic and “Mr. Showtime” Pest, the old ring name of Presidential hopeful Michael Wryght, would become an instant classic and go on to garner P.W.I. 2001 Match of the Year honors. Much like William and his brother Phinehas, the relationship between Showtime and Sadistic was a love/hate ordeal. That epic ladder match was the culmination of a bitter, brutal, and bloody feud. You only hurt the ones you love, right?
Showtime, Sadistic, and Arkham (a.k.a. Will o' the Wisp, a.k.a. The Kill Devil Hills Daredevil, a.k.a. Mandrake, a.k.a. Phinehas “Grimm” Dillinger) had run roughshod atop the S.W.F. while producing some of the most violent bouts seen in North America. Stop me if this sounds familiar. Other S.W.F. mainstays included Pumpkin Head, Donny J. McNasty, current senator Jonathan Haze, and a certain multiple time World Champion...
...one Luis “The Icemann” Malave. He'd come a long way from getting thrown around the ring by a young, clean-shaven Billy Sadistic on the g-fed circuit. And while Malave had amassed an obscene amount of gold since his early days on the circuit, the one accolade that had always eluded him was a victory over arch-nemesis Billy Sadistic. To say that bad blood still existed between both men to this very day...well, that would be an understatement.
Ever the master of the ladder match, Showtime would prove victorious on that fateful night with a bit of help from his patented collapsing ladder. Oh, Showtime and his damn collapsing ladders. Go ahead and ask that chump Justin Kaard about the ever innovate Michael Wryght and his damn collapsing ladders. Of course, Showtime had no need for the money and proceeded to beat Sadistic with the sack of wealth. In an image that would live forever on the cover of Pro Wrestling Illustrated, Billy Sadistic was left in a heap amidst bloodstains, broken ladders, and carnage as money floated through the air like confetti.
Allow me to let you in on a little-known secret about pro wrestlers: In a business dependent almost solely on ratings and PPV buy rates, there are very few wrestlers that are able to move the dial. There aren't many superstars with an ability to put asses in the seats or numbers on the Nielsen ratings. Whitey Ford. Lantlas Anduril. Murdoc. Ace Anderson. Heavy Metal. All men that could draw on a national level. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. PCW, where are your heroes? Now, your heroes wear black. Now, the Faithful tune in to a new era of Pure Class Wrestling. The Era of the Black Hand.
In an ironic twist, Luis Malave's most hated foe was now the goose that laid PCW's golden egg. The blades of that double-edged sword were razor sharp. As much as Luis Malave hates Billy Sadistic, Luis Malave NEEDS Billy Sadistic. Luis Malave needs the Black Hand. If ever you find yourself in doubt, try to imagine PCW without the Black Hand. If you imagined anything other than boring, you'd be lying to yourself.
“Foley has it out for us! I'm telling you,” cried Showtime, his anger bubbling over.
The accusation was in reference to Foley's clear show of favoritism in recent weeks against the Hand. After the gauntlet he'd placed in front of an injured Billy Sadistic, how could one argue?
“Cool it, Mikey,” soothed Sadistic. “Besides, he's on an unpaid leave of absence.”
Showtime could only scoff while adjusting an uncharacteristically stained tanktop. “And they've got the nerve to claim him in league with US?! Ha!”
“Easy,” came Billy's reply. “Besides, I'm going to meet with him tomorrow and get to the bottom of this.” Sadistic adjusted a pair of golden mirrored aviators, his hair neatly combed.
"And of all people, Foley has somehow managed to arrange Pumpkin Head as our referee?! Pumpkin Head?!" Showtime was beyond irate. "We nearly tried to kill each other! Him and his Circus of Domination cronies. Jingles, Jigsaw, Gutter..."
"Mikey...I REALLY don't think it's the same guy."
"Of course it is! He's out to get us. I'm telling you," insisted Showtime. "It's basically gonna be a three-on-two handicap match out there."
"He had his head smashed in with a sledgehammer, for Grimm's sake," Sadistic pled incredulously. "By me."
Showtime eyed him sideways, still unconvinced that his old enemy wouldn't be officiating their match.
"Trust me, Mikey," Sadistic assured him, but Wryght's attention had already turned to his own clothing.
“How can you wear this...this crap?” Upon further inspection, Showtime did look a bit odd. His hair was a Dillinger sort of unruly, his politician's clean-shaven face now adorned a thick fake beard, and his shabby, stained attire seemed a cheap ripoff of the PCW Champion's. Sadistic could only shrug.
“It's comfortable. Unlike this drivel. Feels like I'm wearing cardboard.” Despite a tamed hairstyle and beard(Sadistic refused to shave for his costume), the black pinstriped suit looked completely out of place. And he couldn't even pronounce the man's name that adorned his dress shoes.
“Look at me,” mocked Showtime in his best impression of Sadistic's Southern drawl. “I'm Billy Sadistic. I won my title by the good graces of my best good buddy, Michael Wryght. We all do our part for the Black Hand, but I take all the glory. Showtime is twice the man and thrice as handsome as I am...”
If looks could kill. Sadistic arched an eyebrow behind the stylish shades before cheesing up Showtime's trademark half smirk. When he spoke, it was with an exaggerated Jersey accent. “So, uh, yeah. I'm runnin' for President of the U-Nited States, ya know? I like to talk because I'm all talk. While my best good buddy Billy kicks ass and defends his title in main events, I let my lawyers do my fightin' for me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Wait,” demanded Showtime. “Why are we making fun of each other? Why are we dressed as each other?!”
“Uhhh...” Sadistic pondered. “Because...we're awesome? Besides, who else could we be? Stormmy?”
“No way in HELL I'm drinking any of that Blue Moon crap. Stuff's for pansies.” Sadistic and Showtime shared a hearty laugh at their cohort's expense.
“You know how badly Grimm and Stormm, with four M's between them, want to win those tag titles?” asked the Phenom. “How mad do you reckon they'll be if we beat the champions fair and square in the middle of the ring before they do?”
“Well, we ARE the superior team...” quipped the International and Disputed North American Champion, although talk of their upcoming match against Nathan Saniti and Kelli Starr had caused Sadistic's eyes to wander.
There was an awkward silence between the best friends and Black Hand brothers before William eventually spoke up. “I don't want to face him again,” admitted a reluctant Billy Sadistic in reference to the magician. Saniti had physically dominated Sadistic at Deadly Intentions and prior injuries be damned, Billy considered himself lucky to escape with his life, let alone the Black Hand's World Championship. For reasons unbeknownst to William, his attacks on the wizard had been virtually ineffective and it had been an unintentional distraction from Nathan's fellow Tag Team Champion, Miss Starr, that had given Sadistic the edge.
“I've got no problem kicking his teeth in,” volunteered Showtime, still seething over Saniti's gutless attack at last week's Trauma. “Now Kelli Starr, on the other hand...”
Sadistic's eyes hardened. “Let me deal with her,” he said coldly. “But right now, what do you say we go get some Fun Size Snickers Bars?”
Because, Halloween.
William Dillinger slipped into PCW headquarters undetected. The wound through his chest had puckered into an impressive scar, a permanent souvenir and constant reminder of his war against Eira and the Order. Although on an unpaid leave of absence from his on-screen duties, Frank Foley still toiled away at his off-screen duties in his spacious office.
“No,” he uttered nonchalantly into his desk phone. “PCW has no interest in Mike Park at this time. Or ever. No, not even for $100 dollars per appearance.” Foley hung up the receiver as the voice on the other end continued to squabble.
Moving over to his floor-to-ceiling window to admire his third story view, Foley shook his head in disgust. The whole Black Hand situation was really starting to take its toll on PCW's president. The door to his office opened quietly.
“Did you get lost,” asked Foley sarcastically. “How long does it take to get a cup of cof...”
Turning around, Foley was silenced in mid-sentence. Billy Sadistic stood between him and the rest of the outside world. The expression on Foley's face was that of pure horror as Sadistic bared his teeth. After all, he had something of a reputation for using those teeth.
“Now...now let's not do anything hasty, Billy,” cautioned Foley. “I can have the police on their way in half a second.”
The threat struck William as amusing. “Let's remember something, Foley,” Sadistic warned. “The police don't stop crimes. They show up after they've already been committed.”
Foley nods thoughtfully. “Point well taken. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yeah. What is your play with the Black Hand? You've been trying to get the World Championship off me for the last three months. Why?”
“I...I don't know what you're talking about,” feigned Foley innocently.
Unconvinced, Sadistic took a menacing step in the president's direction. “Perhaps I can jog your memory.” Grabbing Foley by his suit lapels, he jolts him off the ground.
“No! No! It wasn't my...I mean...he made me...”
“What?” The revelation caused Sadistic to loose the president. “Of course...” Sadistic could have kicked himself for not sniffing it out sooner.
Coughing, Foley cleared his throat and recomposed himself. “I had to do what was best for business,” he claimed, trying to cover his previous slip. Sadistic wasn't biting. Foley attempted to laugh off Billy's conspiracy theories. “Seriously? Then if not me, who?”
Sadistic's response was convincing in its simplicity.
“Luis.”
NEX ADDO
* * *
The now-defunct Southeast Wrestling Federation had been generous enough to dangle $100,000 several feet above the ring.
The match between “The Phenom” Billy Sadistic and “Mr. Showtime” Pest, the old ring name of Presidential hopeful Michael Wryght, would become an instant classic and go on to garner P.W.I. 2001 Match of the Year honors. Much like William and his brother Phinehas, the relationship between Showtime and Sadistic was a love/hate ordeal. That epic ladder match was the culmination of a bitter, brutal, and bloody feud. You only hurt the ones you love, right?
Showtime, Sadistic, and Arkham (a.k.a. Will o' the Wisp, a.k.a. The Kill Devil Hills Daredevil, a.k.a. Mandrake, a.k.a. Phinehas “Grimm” Dillinger) had run roughshod atop the S.W.F. while producing some of the most violent bouts seen in North America. Stop me if this sounds familiar. Other S.W.F. mainstays included Pumpkin Head, Donny J. McNasty, current senator Jonathan Haze, and a certain multiple time World Champion...
...one Luis “The Icemann” Malave. He'd come a long way from getting thrown around the ring by a young, clean-shaven Billy Sadistic on the g-fed circuit. And while Malave had amassed an obscene amount of gold since his early days on the circuit, the one accolade that had always eluded him was a victory over arch-nemesis Billy Sadistic. To say that bad blood still existed between both men to this very day...well, that would be an understatement.
Ever the master of the ladder match, Showtime would prove victorious on that fateful night with a bit of help from his patented collapsing ladder. Oh, Showtime and his damn collapsing ladders. Go ahead and ask that chump Justin Kaard about the ever innovate Michael Wryght and his damn collapsing ladders. Of course, Showtime had no need for the money and proceeded to beat Sadistic with the sack of wealth. In an image that would live forever on the cover of Pro Wrestling Illustrated, Billy Sadistic was left in a heap amidst bloodstains, broken ladders, and carnage as money floated through the air like confetti.
Allow me to let you in on a little-known secret about pro wrestlers: In a business dependent almost solely on ratings and PPV buy rates, there are very few wrestlers that are able to move the dial. There aren't many superstars with an ability to put asses in the seats or numbers on the Nielsen ratings. Whitey Ford. Lantlas Anduril. Murdoc. Ace Anderson. Heavy Metal. All men that could draw on a national level. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. PCW, where are your heroes? Now, your heroes wear black. Now, the Faithful tune in to a new era of Pure Class Wrestling. The Era of the Black Hand.
In an ironic twist, Luis Malave's most hated foe was now the goose that laid PCW's golden egg. The blades of that double-edged sword were razor sharp. As much as Luis Malave hates Billy Sadistic, Luis Malave NEEDS Billy Sadistic. Luis Malave needs the Black Hand. If ever you find yourself in doubt, try to imagine PCW without the Black Hand. If you imagined anything other than boring, you'd be lying to yourself.
* * *
“Foley has it out for us! I'm telling you,” cried Showtime, his anger bubbling over.
The accusation was in reference to Foley's clear show of favoritism in recent weeks against the Hand. After the gauntlet he'd placed in front of an injured Billy Sadistic, how could one argue?
“Cool it, Mikey,” soothed Sadistic. “Besides, he's on an unpaid leave of absence.”
Showtime could only scoff while adjusting an uncharacteristically stained tanktop. “And they've got the nerve to claim him in league with US?! Ha!”
“Easy,” came Billy's reply. “Besides, I'm going to meet with him tomorrow and get to the bottom of this.” Sadistic adjusted a pair of golden mirrored aviators, his hair neatly combed.
"And of all people, Foley has somehow managed to arrange Pumpkin Head as our referee?! Pumpkin Head?!" Showtime was beyond irate. "We nearly tried to kill each other! Him and his Circus of Domination cronies. Jingles, Jigsaw, Gutter..."
"Mikey...I REALLY don't think it's the same guy."
"Of course it is! He's out to get us. I'm telling you," insisted Showtime. "It's basically gonna be a three-on-two handicap match out there."
"He had his head smashed in with a sledgehammer, for Grimm's sake," Sadistic pled incredulously. "By me."
Showtime eyed him sideways, still unconvinced that his old enemy wouldn't be officiating their match.
"Trust me, Mikey," Sadistic assured him, but Wryght's attention had already turned to his own clothing.
“How can you wear this...this crap?” Upon further inspection, Showtime did look a bit odd. His hair was a Dillinger sort of unruly, his politician's clean-shaven face now adorned a thick fake beard, and his shabby, stained attire seemed a cheap ripoff of the PCW Champion's. Sadistic could only shrug.
“It's comfortable. Unlike this drivel. Feels like I'm wearing cardboard.” Despite a tamed hairstyle and beard(Sadistic refused to shave for his costume), the black pinstriped suit looked completely out of place. And he couldn't even pronounce the man's name that adorned his dress shoes.
“Look at me,” mocked Showtime in his best impression of Sadistic's Southern drawl. “I'm Billy Sadistic. I won my title by the good graces of my best good buddy, Michael Wryght. We all do our part for the Black Hand, but I take all the glory. Showtime is twice the man and thrice as handsome as I am...”
If looks could kill. Sadistic arched an eyebrow behind the stylish shades before cheesing up Showtime's trademark half smirk. When he spoke, it was with an exaggerated Jersey accent. “So, uh, yeah. I'm runnin' for President of the U-Nited States, ya know? I like to talk because I'm all talk. While my best good buddy Billy kicks ass and defends his title in main events, I let my lawyers do my fightin' for me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Wait,” demanded Showtime. “Why are we making fun of each other? Why are we dressed as each other?!”
“Uhhh...” Sadistic pondered. “Because...we're awesome? Besides, who else could we be? Stormmy?”
“No way in HELL I'm drinking any of that Blue Moon crap. Stuff's for pansies.” Sadistic and Showtime shared a hearty laugh at their cohort's expense.
“You know how badly Grimm and Stormm, with four M's between them, want to win those tag titles?” asked the Phenom. “How mad do you reckon they'll be if we beat the champions fair and square in the middle of the ring before they do?”
“Well, we ARE the superior team...” quipped the International and Disputed North American Champion, although talk of their upcoming match against Nathan Saniti and Kelli Starr had caused Sadistic's eyes to wander.
There was an awkward silence between the best friends and Black Hand brothers before William eventually spoke up. “I don't want to face him again,” admitted a reluctant Billy Sadistic in reference to the magician. Saniti had physically dominated Sadistic at Deadly Intentions and prior injuries be damned, Billy considered himself lucky to escape with his life, let alone the Black Hand's World Championship. For reasons unbeknownst to William, his attacks on the wizard had been virtually ineffective and it had been an unintentional distraction from Nathan's fellow Tag Team Champion, Miss Starr, that had given Sadistic the edge.
“I've got no problem kicking his teeth in,” volunteered Showtime, still seething over Saniti's gutless attack at last week's Trauma. “Now Kelli Starr, on the other hand...”
Sadistic's eyes hardened. “Let me deal with her,” he said coldly. “But right now, what do you say we go get some Fun Size Snickers Bars?”
Because, Halloween.
* * *
William Dillinger slipped into PCW headquarters undetected. The wound through his chest had puckered into an impressive scar, a permanent souvenir and constant reminder of his war against Eira and the Order. Although on an unpaid leave of absence from his on-screen duties, Frank Foley still toiled away at his off-screen duties in his spacious office.
“No,” he uttered nonchalantly into his desk phone. “PCW has no interest in Mike Park at this time. Or ever. No, not even for $100 dollars per appearance.” Foley hung up the receiver as the voice on the other end continued to squabble.
Moving over to his floor-to-ceiling window to admire his third story view, Foley shook his head in disgust. The whole Black Hand situation was really starting to take its toll on PCW's president. The door to his office opened quietly.
“Did you get lost,” asked Foley sarcastically. “How long does it take to get a cup of cof...”
Turning around, Foley was silenced in mid-sentence. Billy Sadistic stood between him and the rest of the outside world. The expression on Foley's face was that of pure horror as Sadistic bared his teeth. After all, he had something of a reputation for using those teeth.
“Now...now let's not do anything hasty, Billy,” cautioned Foley. “I can have the police on their way in half a second.”
The threat struck William as amusing. “Let's remember something, Foley,” Sadistic warned. “The police don't stop crimes. They show up after they've already been committed.”
Foley nods thoughtfully. “Point well taken. Is there something I can do for you?”
“Yeah. What is your play with the Black Hand? You've been trying to get the World Championship off me for the last three months. Why?”
“I...I don't know what you're talking about,” feigned Foley innocently.
Unconvinced, Sadistic took a menacing step in the president's direction. “Perhaps I can jog your memory.” Grabbing Foley by his suit lapels, he jolts him off the ground.
“No! No! It wasn't my...I mean...he made me...”
“What?” The revelation caused Sadistic to loose the president. “Of course...” Sadistic could have kicked himself for not sniffing it out sooner.
Coughing, Foley cleared his throat and recomposed himself. “I had to do what was best for business,” he claimed, trying to cover his previous slip. Sadistic wasn't biting. Foley attempted to laugh off Billy's conspiracy theories. “Seriously? Then if not me, who?”
Sadistic's response was convincing in its simplicity.
“Luis.”
NEX ADDO
