Post by Mike Machado on May 21, 2013 19:40:45 GMT
A crumb from a Doritos chip tumbles out of Machado’s mustache and onto his shirt.
“The ole flavor saver, never lets me down.”
Mike snatches the crumb and attempts to direct it back into his mouth, only to have his substantial mustache intercept the transaction yet again. It disappears into the vastness of the ‘stache – possibly to emerge another day.
“Well, IWF, it is truly nice to meet you. I see some familiar faces, and some not so familiar. For those that don’t know me, my name is Mike Machado – and I’m here to f<censored> s<censored> up.”
Machado’s eyes dart off camera
“Can I say that?”
His face twinges, showing a flash of annoyance.
“From the top then. Ahem. Hello, IWF. Mike Machado here. Some of you should know me, but many of you may not. I’m here to give mustache rides – and for those of you who aren’t hip to the lingo – that means I’m going to eat your girlfriend’s p<censored> until the cow f<censored>s the chicken in the ass.”
Mike hesitates a moment before glancing to the side and behind the camera again.
“That was probably inappropriate, wasn’t it?”
“Sorry – I’ve spent the last year or so in the mountains with the monks of the West Virginian hiking trail. I may have lost a bit of the refined swagger that I oozed on camera throughout my career.”
Mike takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. Of course, Machado has never been very refined. And he’s certainly never had any swagger.
“I, Mike Machado, have finally arrived at my final wrestling destination. The promised land. The company where my destiny, and indeed The Great Prophecy shall be fulfilled.”
“You may be asking yourselves: What is The Great Prophecy? What is this amazing man with this fantastic mustache going on about? First of all; eyes up here buddy. I know it’s glorious, but it’s rude to stare. Yes, it is 100% real. I know that there have been imposters running around with mustache implants *cough* Phillip Burns *cough*, but I am the originator. I am the chosen one.”
“I have ascended the great mountain… The Devil’s Nose. When I reached the summit, I saw a glorious vision of the future. A vision of this very place, calling out to me. I saw the trials I will have to endure. The pain that will be inflicted on me. The ridicule that will be cast upon me as I wade through the sea of opponents that want nothing more than to cast me down from the throne that is rightfully mine to take. I saw all of these hardships, and I saw the one thing that will get me to the promised land. I saw a vision of me, holding my own custom-made world championship belt high into the air… The people chanting my name… Me-di-o-cre (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap) Me-di-o-cre…”
“What’s that?”
Machado cups his hand to his ear, listening to a quiet voice behind the camera.
“No world championship?”
“…Imperial Championship!?”
Mike’s head drops, the fire in his eyes diminished. Before he can rally there is an urgent knock on his door.
“Looks like my fans have found my new abode. I thought that moving federations would keep them at bay a bit longer, but c’est la vie. When you’re this famous it comes with the territory, ya know?”
Mike gets to the door and breathes a shallow sigh before swinging it open. On the other side is… a police officer?
“Officer? How can I help you?”
“Are you Michael Mustache Machado? Wait is your middle name really “mustache” ?”
“I.. y..yes…Is there some kind of..”
Machado is cut off as the police officer steps into the house, turns Machado around and cuffs him
“You’re wanted for the murder investigation of Jimmy Turner. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”
Machado is shocked and confused, but compliant.
“There must be some kind of mistake! I never… we were just out of toilet paper!”
Machado is hauled out of his home in handcuffs and the camera fades to black.
Lock down.
It can do crazy things to a man, if he lets it. I’m writing these memoirs to document my trials, in case, you know… someone writes a book. I’ve been in this cell for what seems like years. My bunk mate tells me it’s only been about two hours. He’s also said that I look like a porn star, and that he’s going to f my face tonight. He advised that I “take it all” or else he’ll “shank my skinny-fat, white ass”. My anal virginity was taken by a rogue horse-saddle when I was only twelve, but beyond that I’d consider myself fairly inexperienced in these matters. All I know for sure is that it’s not gay when you’re locked away. Or something like that.
First thing I did when I had the chance was to call my agent. He wasn’t aware that I’d been arrested, due to his understandable addiction to the Hunger Games novels; but he did let me know that I’ve been scheduled to wrestle my first IWF match on Monday night. A 4-way imperial steel cage match, starring yours truly, Freakke, Jake Keeton, and John Rherring.
I’ll start with someone I recognize; Freakke the clown. He was well-known in nCw circles. I’ve seen plenty of him, enough to know that if this were a 1 on 1 match, I’d be completely screwed. He jumps like 30 feet into the air, and he kicks super hard. Plus, I’ve never completely gotten over the movie “It”. He made the nCw top 50 superstars of all-time list, and he’s arguably the scariest clown-person that the wrestling world has ever known.
John Rherring looks scary as crap as well. Anybody who has some kind of mysterious and malicious past is probably someone that I’d struggle against. I mean – I know that I just described like, half of the current roster, but this guy also seems to have a thing with puns; and I hate puns. He’s looking for Rhedemption. And his last name starts with “r-h-e” do you see what he did there? It’s intimidating. I don’t want any part of it. One on one, I wouldn’t stand a chance.
Last, but not least, we have Jake Keeton. He’s a veteran of this business, a former multi-time world champion, and an all-around badass. I haven’t wrestled with him, or even seen him wrestle – but I’ve heard the talk around the water-cooler (by water-cooler I do mean hiding in the bathroom with my feet on the toilet seat eavesdropping on people using the urinals) and if it’s to be trusted, this guy is a probable world-title contender. If you put me and Jake in a ring together one on one – I have a zero percent chance of winning the match.
But let’s do the math:
In a normal match, Jake Keeton has a 50/50 chance of winning; but this isn’t a normal match. It’s an imperials steel cage match… the only way to win, is to escape the cage! I’m probably way better at running away than most of the guys on this roster. I can definitely run away better than Jake. That puts Jake at a 25% chance of winning this match, and me at a 75% chance. Then we consider there are other people in this match, and they’ll probably be wanting to kill Jake Keeton to make a name for themselves… that puts him at a 3 and a third % chance to win the match, and if you do all the required multiplication, and carry all of the zeroes I’m already at 150 and a half % chance to win the match on Monday.
I like those odds. You can’t argue with that. It’s just simple arithmetic.
“Now listen-here, you will let my client out of this jail, this INSTANT, or else I will have you all brought up on charges of misconduct!”
“You posted his bail like ten minutes ago. We’re working on processing him. This is the third time you’ve threatened to bring us up on ‘charges of misconduct’. It’s not a real thing. Stop.”
“I KNOW MY RIGHTS! THIS IS ‘MURICA GOD DAMMIT!”
None other than the Magic Man Mike Honcho pounds on the desk of the front window at the county police station. He’s wearing a brown suit from the seventies, complete with a plaid brown tie and a round white hat.
“Sir, if you don’t calm down I’m going to put you in the cell with your client for disorderly conduct. Now please, step aside.”
The female officer behind the window motions to Honcho to continue on with his business, but he’ll have none of it.
“You listen-here, missy! I may not big a big-city lawyer, but I damn well know that would be double jeopardy! It’s in the constitution!”
“That isn’t what that means. At all. I don’t even know how you could think that would be the same thing. Are you even a real lawyer?”
Honcho starts to turn red and throws a finger up into the air.
“OBJECTION! BADGERING THE WITNESS!”
“You’re not in court…”
“YOU’RE NOT IN COURT! THIS WHOLE POLICE DEPARTMENT IS NOT IN COURT!”
Honcho is mere moments away from completely losing his composure when Mike Machado emerges from behind a locked door, all of his belongings in a plastic bag. He looks worn and ragged, obviously exhausted from his four hours locked behind bars.
“Hon..Honcho? HONCHO! YOU SAVED ME!”
“Not yet. We still have more work to do broham. They’re trying to pin this thing on you. It’s Stach’ism at its deepest and darkest level. We won't stand for it!”
“I didn’t kill him, Honch.”
“I know, little buddy. I know.”
Honcho leads Machado out of the police department, but not before turning back to the officer behind the front table for one last evil glare.
“Honch… how’d you afford my bail? Wasn’t it tens of thousands of dollars?”
“You’d be surprised how much credit Phillip Burns has. Also, I set up a fake bail bond company that I'm using to launder my black market mustache oil money. …But let’s just keep that between us.”
Machado and Honcho, together again, exit the building and out into a brand new day.
“The ole flavor saver, never lets me down.”
Mike snatches the crumb and attempts to direct it back into his mouth, only to have his substantial mustache intercept the transaction yet again. It disappears into the vastness of the ‘stache – possibly to emerge another day.
“Well, IWF, it is truly nice to meet you. I see some familiar faces, and some not so familiar. For those that don’t know me, my name is Mike Machado – and I’m here to f<censored> s<censored> up.”
Machado’s eyes dart off camera
“Can I say that?”
His face twinges, showing a flash of annoyance.
“From the top then. Ahem. Hello, IWF. Mike Machado here. Some of you should know me, but many of you may not. I’m here to give mustache rides – and for those of you who aren’t hip to the lingo – that means I’m going to eat your girlfriend’s p<censored> until the cow f<censored>s the chicken in the ass.”
Mike hesitates a moment before glancing to the side and behind the camera again.
“That was probably inappropriate, wasn’t it?”
“Sorry – I’ve spent the last year or so in the mountains with the monks of the West Virginian hiking trail. I may have lost a bit of the refined swagger that I oozed on camera throughout my career.”
Mike takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. Of course, Machado has never been very refined. And he’s certainly never had any swagger.
“I, Mike Machado, have finally arrived at my final wrestling destination. The promised land. The company where my destiny, and indeed The Great Prophecy shall be fulfilled.”
“You may be asking yourselves: What is The Great Prophecy? What is this amazing man with this fantastic mustache going on about? First of all; eyes up here buddy. I know it’s glorious, but it’s rude to stare. Yes, it is 100% real. I know that there have been imposters running around with mustache implants *cough* Phillip Burns *cough*, but I am the originator. I am the chosen one.”
“I have ascended the great mountain… The Devil’s Nose. When I reached the summit, I saw a glorious vision of the future. A vision of this very place, calling out to me. I saw the trials I will have to endure. The pain that will be inflicted on me. The ridicule that will be cast upon me as I wade through the sea of opponents that want nothing more than to cast me down from the throne that is rightfully mine to take. I saw all of these hardships, and I saw the one thing that will get me to the promised land. I saw a vision of me, holding my own custom-made world championship belt high into the air… The people chanting my name… Me-di-o-cre (clap, clap, clap-clap-clap) Me-di-o-cre…”
“What’s that?”
Machado cups his hand to his ear, listening to a quiet voice behind the camera.
“No world championship?”
“…Imperial Championship!?”
Mike’s head drops, the fire in his eyes diminished. Before he can rally there is an urgent knock on his door.
“Looks like my fans have found my new abode. I thought that moving federations would keep them at bay a bit longer, but c’est la vie. When you’re this famous it comes with the territory, ya know?”
Mike gets to the door and breathes a shallow sigh before swinging it open. On the other side is… a police officer?
“Officer? How can I help you?”
“Are you Michael Mustache Machado? Wait is your middle name really “mustache” ?”
“I.. y..yes…Is there some kind of..”
Machado is cut off as the police officer steps into the house, turns Machado around and cuffs him
“You’re wanted for the murder investigation of Jimmy Turner. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”
Machado is shocked and confused, but compliant.
“There must be some kind of mistake! I never… we were just out of toilet paper!”
Machado is hauled out of his home in handcuffs and the camera fades to black.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lock down.
It can do crazy things to a man, if he lets it. I’m writing these memoirs to document my trials, in case, you know… someone writes a book. I’ve been in this cell for what seems like years. My bunk mate tells me it’s only been about two hours. He’s also said that I look like a porn star, and that he’s going to f my face tonight. He advised that I “take it all” or else he’ll “shank my skinny-fat, white ass”. My anal virginity was taken by a rogue horse-saddle when I was only twelve, but beyond that I’d consider myself fairly inexperienced in these matters. All I know for sure is that it’s not gay when you’re locked away. Or something like that.
First thing I did when I had the chance was to call my agent. He wasn’t aware that I’d been arrested, due to his understandable addiction to the Hunger Games novels; but he did let me know that I’ve been scheduled to wrestle my first IWF match on Monday night. A 4-way imperial steel cage match, starring yours truly, Freakke, Jake Keeton, and John Rherring.
I’ll start with someone I recognize; Freakke the clown. He was well-known in nCw circles. I’ve seen plenty of him, enough to know that if this were a 1 on 1 match, I’d be completely screwed. He jumps like 30 feet into the air, and he kicks super hard. Plus, I’ve never completely gotten over the movie “It”. He made the nCw top 50 superstars of all-time list, and he’s arguably the scariest clown-person that the wrestling world has ever known.
John Rherring looks scary as crap as well. Anybody who has some kind of mysterious and malicious past is probably someone that I’d struggle against. I mean – I know that I just described like, half of the current roster, but this guy also seems to have a thing with puns; and I hate puns. He’s looking for Rhedemption. And his last name starts with “r-h-e” do you see what he did there? It’s intimidating. I don’t want any part of it. One on one, I wouldn’t stand a chance.
Last, but not least, we have Jake Keeton. He’s a veteran of this business, a former multi-time world champion, and an all-around badass. I haven’t wrestled with him, or even seen him wrestle – but I’ve heard the talk around the water-cooler (by water-cooler I do mean hiding in the bathroom with my feet on the toilet seat eavesdropping on people using the urinals) and if it’s to be trusted, this guy is a probable world-title contender. If you put me and Jake in a ring together one on one – I have a zero percent chance of winning the match.
But let’s do the math:
In a normal match, Jake Keeton has a 50/50 chance of winning; but this isn’t a normal match. It’s an imperials steel cage match… the only way to win, is to escape the cage! I’m probably way better at running away than most of the guys on this roster. I can definitely run away better than Jake. That puts Jake at a 25% chance of winning this match, and me at a 75% chance. Then we consider there are other people in this match, and they’ll probably be wanting to kill Jake Keeton to make a name for themselves… that puts him at a 3 and a third % chance to win the match, and if you do all the required multiplication, and carry all of the zeroes I’m already at 150 and a half % chance to win the match on Monday.
I like those odds. You can’t argue with that. It’s just simple arithmetic.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Now listen-here, you will let my client out of this jail, this INSTANT, or else I will have you all brought up on charges of misconduct!”
“You posted his bail like ten minutes ago. We’re working on processing him. This is the third time you’ve threatened to bring us up on ‘charges of misconduct’. It’s not a real thing. Stop.”
“I KNOW MY RIGHTS! THIS IS ‘MURICA GOD DAMMIT!”
None other than the Magic Man Mike Honcho pounds on the desk of the front window at the county police station. He’s wearing a brown suit from the seventies, complete with a plaid brown tie and a round white hat.
“Sir, if you don’t calm down I’m going to put you in the cell with your client for disorderly conduct. Now please, step aside.”
The female officer behind the window motions to Honcho to continue on with his business, but he’ll have none of it.
“You listen-here, missy! I may not big a big-city lawyer, but I damn well know that would be double jeopardy! It’s in the constitution!”
“That isn’t what that means. At all. I don’t even know how you could think that would be the same thing. Are you even a real lawyer?”
Honcho starts to turn red and throws a finger up into the air.
“OBJECTION! BADGERING THE WITNESS!”
“You’re not in court…”
“YOU’RE NOT IN COURT! THIS WHOLE POLICE DEPARTMENT IS NOT IN COURT!”
Honcho is mere moments away from completely losing his composure when Mike Machado emerges from behind a locked door, all of his belongings in a plastic bag. He looks worn and ragged, obviously exhausted from his four hours locked behind bars.
“Hon..Honcho? HONCHO! YOU SAVED ME!”
“Not yet. We still have more work to do broham. They’re trying to pin this thing on you. It’s Stach’ism at its deepest and darkest level. We won't stand for it!”
“I didn’t kill him, Honch.”
“I know, little buddy. I know.”
Honcho leads Machado out of the police department, but not before turning back to the officer behind the front table for one last evil glare.
“Honch… how’d you afford my bail? Wasn’t it tens of thousands of dollars?”
“You’d be surprised how much credit Phillip Burns has. Also, I set up a fake bail bond company that I'm using to launder my black market mustache oil money. …But let’s just keep that between us.”
Machado and Honcho, together again, exit the building and out into a brand new day.
Well howdy there pardner.