Meet My Monster: Dick Trickle Addresses Trent Killjoy AGAIN

[colossus]

Dick has really treated his monster this time.

He had booked a table at Massaria, a Michelin Star restaurant in the Foggy Bottom district of Washington DC. He had his own table, and wait staff, and everything had been paid for in advance.

Britlyn, as much as she makes some questionable business decisions, takes care of her champions. She put it on the OCW Amex.

Dick walked in with a shopping bag from one of the high end stores down in Alexandria, and smiled when he saw Colossus polishing off another plate of greens.

“Ahh, so you do know what vegetables are.”

Next to the current plate was a plate stained with the juices of the prime rib he had eaten previously, and several small plates that once contained various sushi rolls.

“APPETIZER” he said.

Dick chuckled.

“I got you something, big guy.”

Colossus looked at the bag like a child looked at a new toy. He was sure his manager and best friend had brought him something delicious. He was a tad disappointed when Dick pulled out lettered blocks and scattered them on the table.

“These may not seem like much big guy, but each of these blocks represents something…..”

“I EAT….”

“No….you can’t eat these. Look at the letters on each one, they're made of solid gold.”

“WHY BRING?”

“You’ve got an alphabet match this week, whatever the hell that is. They are going to shout out a letter at random, and you’re only allowed to use a weapon starting with that letter.”

“I KNOW. WHY BRING?”

“Well, big man, I am gonna get you ready for any random letter they may throw your way. You can keep these as a souvenir when we’re done, they may be worth something someday.”

Two waiters came with hot plates, as the main course was about to be served.

Dick rolled a block like a dice, and it came up with the letter F.

Colossus grabbed a fork and without thinking stabbed it into the waiter’s leg. The man screamed and dropped the plate. Colossus took the metal block with the gold letter F and brought it down over his head. The waiter was out cold.

The crowd in the restaurant turned. There was food spilled all over the table.

The other waiter was frozen in shock. Dick rolled another block, letter G.

Colossus took Dick’s Gin and Tonic and threw it in the eyes of the frozen waiter, causing him to drop the plate. He super-kicked him and set him flying.

There was a crowd around them now, many of them had pulled their phones out. One man had turned one of the best restaurants on the East Coast into a War Zone. The block rolled this time was a C. He picked up his chair and held it above his head.

“Stop.” Dick said, a big smile on his face.

Colossus turned to him.

“You’re ready.”

He didn’t want to do too much damage to the restaurant, as Brit would surely pull the funding, cancel the card, and take it out of his paycheck.

“MORE!”

The big man was rolling now. He smelled fear among the staff, and it was his lifeblood.

“MORE!”

Dick rolled a designer dice.

D, the letter D.

Colossus took two security guards who rushed him, and grabbed them by the collars and lifted them up, walking them towards the back as they flailed. He kicked open the door and dragged them outside.

“DUMPSTER” he said.

Dick smiled as the big monster threw them both into the restaurant's dumpsters outside. Dick walked out, holding another block.

"I think we've got something here."

He spells out T-R-E-N-T with the blocks, sending Colossus into a rage. He kicks the blocks. Colossus disappears behind the restaurant and comes back with a sledgehammer. Dick didn't know where the hell he got it from, but he was okay with it. 

"I get it. Trent makes me want to smash him, too. Go ahead, break them, and I'll take you to get an ice cream."

There was a guttural yell and the sound of breaking as Dick stood, arms folded, a smile as big as Texas on his face.

“Better late than never, yeah? We have been traveling all day and if I can be honest, we didn’t view you as a priority. You haven’t proven yourself worthy of our attention. Would you say otherwise? You’re the number one contender on RISE, Trent, you’re the best of a bad situation. Ever since Spencer tucked his tail and ran because he couldn’t beat my monster, you’ve been the face of a “developmental” plan that is more Special Olympics than wrestling brand. The cream rises to the top, my monster did that and he did that quickly, and he’s had you biting at his ankles ever since.

I know you want to play the hero. I know you get chubbed up when those people cheer for you. I know you want to prove a point, but Trent, at what cost? You put your body through hell, not to mention that rollercoaster of emotions that would make Universal Studios jealous, only to lose to my monster every single time.

It’s gotta be hard on you.

Hell you’d be better off being a midcarder on Anarchy than the ‘Main Event’ on RISE who never gets the job done. It’s fun to be the main event, yes? It’s never fun to lose. But you’ve made losing a habit, haven’t ya? You’ve talked and talked and talked and consistently over-promised and under-delivered. Eventually, these fans are gonna turn on ya. Eventually, they’ll stop wearing the Trent Killjoy tee-shirts and start buying the next wannabe who decides to brainwash them.

You better hope you beat my monster.

Jolie decided to pull one from deep in the playbook, huh? An alphabet match? What are we on sesame street, toots? I get it, marketing and such. Ratings. The way I see it, it’s just another way my monster can make you suffer. It is just another way he can give you an excuse when you lose again, it is just another reason why YOU need a GIMMICK to beat HIM.

Straight up, one on one? You’re a stick figure trying to lift a boulder. Straight up, one on one? You got a better chance of Joy Behar voting Republican. Straight up, one on one? You’ve got a better chance of a September blizzard in Phoenix.

Straight up, one on one?

Yeah, you get the gist. Been there, done that. People don’t change, Trent. People are who they are. Colossus is the man amongst boys, the champion of champions. All you are is a metro-dressing disappointment. You can grow your beard out and put spikes on your shoulder plates but it doesn’t make you any less of a bitch. You may have given yourself a confidence booster when you look in the mirror, but when you step in the ring the brown streak in those boxers gets a little thicker. I’ve spoken to Colossus, he’s seen it in your eyes. He’s read it in your body language.

I’ll be straight up with you. You aren’t champion because you aren’t ready to be champion.

You want it a whole hell of a lot more than you deserve it.

You need it because your glass-jaw ego tells you that you do. You need it because it would give you a reason to come to work every week. You need it because as much as you hate to say it, and refuse to out loud, people have started giving up on Trent Killjoy.

TRENT KILLJOY has started giving up on Trent Killjoy.

You haven’t said it, but I said it for you. You didn’t have to swallow your pride as like you swallowed that load for that new ring gear. You probably thought “same Dick, different night”, and thought I was going to throw around witty punchlines and well-placed zingers for that “burn” moment.

I don’t need to.

Trent those days are behind us. This is back page news now. We’re over you. If I don’t be open and honest, and say it like it is, you will never learn. Consider this promo a teaching moment.

There are levels to this shit, Trent. There are people who sit on top and those who look up to the top, and your neck is hurting isn’t it? This good guy facade is exactly that, a facade, because you don’t care about the little girl in the front row wearing your tee shirt or the little boy sipping from the RISE thermos with your face on it….NO…..you care about you. How will this title make YOU look to yourself? What validation will it give YOU. What kind of hero is that?

So Trent, we are going to put an end to this. No matter what letter is called out, my monster is going to throw you around the ring like it’s nothing to him, because it’s not. He is going to smile and relish in you giving it your all like the Little Engine That Could, but when this sad excuse for a Pay Per View (which, happens to be on cable so is nothing more than a cash grab to put out a shiny version of the same turd they do every week) comes to its conclusion the world will realize that that little engine can’t do it after all.

It ran out of gas.

It’s broken down on the side of the road.

It’s useless, to itself and to everyone else.

So Trent this is it. This is your last chance. When you inevitably blow it again, I don’t care how much you beg and cry and open that anus, Colossus is done with you. So give him absolutely everything you’ve got……..

A for effort.

Mr. Midnight Massacre. M for Massacred at Midnight.

D for disappointment.

L for yet another loss.

See you soon, softie, and don’t say we didn’t warn ya.”