Post by Allen and Ollie and Raccoon on Aug 11, 2024 13:20:40 GMT
'THE COMEDIAN' ALLEN CHANEY
Allen Throws Tables and Tells Everyone to Eat Shit
If I wake up in a house that's full of smoke
I'll panic, so call me up and tell me a joke
When I'm fully irrelevant and totally broken, damn it
Call me up and tell me a joke
Oh, shit...
...You're really joking at a time like this?
-Bo Burnham
-Bo Burnham
A table.
A sandwich.
Allen steps into frame and flips the table over, making a big sandwich mess.
There would be no sandwich eaten today.
Allen is breathing hard, not the kind of heavy breathing that comes from being worn out. It’s the kind of heavy breathing angry people do because humans never naturally evolved the ability to growl when they’re angry.
ALLEN CHANEY: This is not going to be….very happy or very funny… but that’s okay! I don’t think anyone actually genuinely watches these. I could probably say my social security number right now and not take a hit on my credit score.
A few more deep breaths until ‘The Comedian’ regains his composure. Allen clacks his tongue, wondering if it was a good idea to be as honest as he is planning to be.
ALLEN CHANEY: After my match with Serenity I limped to the backstage area with blood pouring down my face and found a chair and just…had a seat. I stared off into space and just let…numbness wash over me. I literally sat there til Jennie found me at the end of the show but until then people walked around me like I was an inconveniently placed piece of furniture. No one checked on me. No one asked if I was okay. No one even bothered with a ‘Hey fatass, you’re leaking gravy’.
Allen shrugs.
ALLEN CHANEY: It’s finally hit me. I do not feel like a part of the IWF Roster. I feel like not a single person here aside from my fiance cares if I live or die and you know what? Fine. Sure. I give up trying to get any of you to see that what’s happening to me could happen to any one of you. When I eventually go away Verona will find someone else to do this to and a whole new group of people can be complicit in silence over it. In short…hey IWF roster? Suck my fucking dick. My Midwestern kindness has a limit. Frankly I should have had this realization way sooner but I’ve accepted I’ve currently got no friends here.
Foreshadowing? Maybe. I’m not tellin.
ALLEN CHANEY: So I am an idiot for staying here. It’s a permanent devaluation of my standing and my name and my intelligence that I continue to stay in this company. At every turn I am made to look like a fucking idiot. I’m going to show up to this match and likely lose due to Roberto pulling some shit and my name will be worth even less and no one will care. I’m genuinely not having a good time anymore. No reward is going to be worth what it took to get here but if I back out now I did all of this for nothing and that’s… probably worse? Maybe? I don’t exactly remember what ‘Sunk Cost Fallacy’ means but I’m pretty sure if I googled the definition and applied it to how I handle things in this company my next step would be jumping off the roof of the Kansas City Power and Light building.
Allen laughs manically before kicking over another table. Napkins go flying.
ALLEN CHANEY: So in one respect? You win, Roberto. I genuinely feel broken inside now in a way that can’t be fixed and not one aspect of this job brings me joy anymore. Here I am, going through the fucking motions in front of a fucking camera once a-fucking-gain to say ‘I hate Roberto Verona’ for the FIVE THOUSANDTH FUCKING TIME AND I HATE THIS! I HATE ALL OF YOU!
Genuine anger, frustration, and even a bit of sorrow pours out of the Comedian who flips another table
ALLEN CHANEY: FUCK THE IWF. FUCK EVERYONE BACKSTAGE WHO IS COMPLICIT IN THIS.
Allen throws another table across the room. We get another pause for Allen to control his breathing. Something in Allen does seem to be genuinely broken. He’s different.
Feral, almost.
ALLEN CHANEY: I couldn’t write a joke funnier than any of this. I can’t possibly write a joke funnier than Serenity Holmes calling me a ‘puppet’ when she can’t make a single movement without Roberto Verona’s permission like his hand is inside her working the arms and mouth. I can’t write anything funnier than Caleb fucking Cannin inserting himself into this situation like I have something to do with no one giving two tugs about him anymore.
Allen mimes a wanking motion when he says ‘two tugs’.
ALLEN CHANEY: High Stakes was in March. I’ve been trying to get a single title shot in this company for over six months now and I’ve been back for 8. That’s the fucking saddest thing ever. I literally DID earn one and now have to beat a guy to get that title shot who I LITERALLY ALREADY BEAT TO GET THE TITLE SHOT HE WAS IN THE FUCKING JOKER IN THE PACK MATCH. Not a single title shot. Hell, even if I somehow get my briefcase back? No guarantee I win a championship. If I lose that title match after all that I’ve been through? I see no alternative aside from me quitting this industry entirely and that sounds more and more appealing every single day because it’s an industry where I can no longer win and seemingly nobody likes me. So why am I here? I’ve already gotten my hands on Verona before. There’s no real endgame aside from that, right? RIGHT!?!?!
A pause.
ALLEN CHANEY: Anyway, Caleb Cannin! You're the latest name to have ‘with Roberto Verona’ attached to it in a LONG line of those as part of a series of matches that is going to continue until either Verona or I dies. Perhaps we will go at the same time when God mercifully launches a meteor at the arena and I am finally free. I’m going to be in this room every week talking about Roberto Verona forever! Hey Siri! Give me directions to the Power and Light Building! This is starting to get even darker than I intended so I guess we’ll move on.
Allen makes a ‘moving on’ hand gesture for emphasis as he takes out his phone and stops it from actually giving him directions.
ALLEN CHANEY: Caleb. Buddy. Pal. You haven’t GOT a ‘future’ to speak of. You now find yourself in the unenvious position
Allen hasn’t blinked. There is something genuinely terrifying and feral
ALLEN CHANEY: Tell me I’m a big unfunny fat piece of shit. Talk some shit on my fiance if you want to, everyone is doing it! Tell me how good you are. Tell me how shit I am. Tell me how unstoppable you are now that you’ve got ‘Berto in your corner. There’s one other thing you need to tell me after all that, though.
A pause. There is not a drop of irony or even malice in Allen’s voice as he says the following.
ALLEN CHANEY: I need you to tell me what I should tell your family after this. There’s a significant chance you will be unresponsive for some time after we fight and it would be nice to be able to say something reassuring to them after you get stretchered off. Not for my sake or yours… for theirs. See, I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Caleb. C’mere. Come real close.
Allen gestures for the viewer to come closer as he leans in himself and grabs and pulls the boom mic down to speak directly into it, whispering.
ALLEN CHANEY: I don’t care if I win or lose. I just want to break you while your new pimp watches, you little biiiiiiiiiiiiitch.
Allen releases the boom mic and quickly readjusts it.
ALLEN CHANEY: I don’t give a shit about a briefcase anymore. I don’t give a shit about the rotten-to-the-core soul of this company. Everyone on this roster save for my fiance and maybe Walker and the Ginger can line up to eat from a bag of my shit for all I fucking care. Wins? Losses? Title shots? My reputation? My sanity? My physical health? I don’t fucking care anymore. The only thing that’s keeping me going is a vision in my head of a bloodied Roberto Verona begging me for mercy and here’s a spoiler… I’m not going to give it to him. This does not end with a pinfall or a submission. It ends when I can feel something besides anger again.
Allen sets one of the tables back up and takes something out of a backpack he had nearby. The ring bell he stole at the end of the last show. He takes out the mallet and clangs it once….twice…
ALLEN CHANEY: Just watch. Watch as a dipshit who has been calling himself ‘The Future’ for a couple years now gets placed firmly in the past tense.
Three rings. Four.
ALLEN CHANEY: A man whose nickname promised big things he never fucking delivered on so he decided to try and tear a chunk of relevance off of me.
Five. Six.
ALLEN CHANEY: A man who apparently has beef with me over…showing up during his match to cash in my Joker in the Pack and then not being able to, which is an excuse for losing about as flimsy as dental floss. I have fifteen people a week interfering in my matches and one of them was literally you, you dumb bitch.
Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
ALLEN CHANEY: And there it is. A Ten Bell Salute for ‘The Future’. ‘The Future’ as in preemptively for the next episode but also ‘The Future’ Caleb Cannin aka the dipshit who is about to piss his most recent bid for relevancy right down his leg. Cool double meaning, right? Condolences to anyone who will miss him. I’m sure they exist. They ain’t me, so also fuck them to. They can also join the ‘eat from a bag of my shit’ line right behind almost everyone on the roster of this fuckhole company of dick-for-brains shit-eating piss-gargling useless fucking wank-cramps and then I hope the building they’re all eating my shit in catches on fire. So in my dreams ends the Roberto Verona era: Idiots and sycophants huffing the fumes of flaming shit and telling Roberto how much they like it and how smart he is for trapping them in the flaming shit building and disagreeing or ignoring anyone who points out that they’re in a flaming shit building. Fuck you all. Find and kiss the fattest part of my ass. Die in shit and fire. Set-Up. Punchline. How’s that for a fucking poster quote?
Allen bops the boom mic as he storms out of the room causing a very loud discordant sound that is murder for anyone watching this with headphones on. Allen slams a door and a picture frame falls off the wall and smashes before we fade to black.
Allen passes by a ferris wheel that has certainly seen better days on his way to the bumper cars, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his Hoodie.
“Hey. That talk we had on the phone recently. Were you serious? As bad as things are in IWF…I could use the help.” Allen says. The figure working on the Bumper car lifts his head up, his face concealed by a pair of dark work goggles and a PPE mask.
Allen doesn’t see it but…
Well howdy there pardner.