Welcome to WachadoWorld

[Mike Machado]

The digital alarm-clock changes from 2:34 to 2:35 AM. Mike Machado lays in a dark room, eyes wide open. He rolls over in his bed, and then grunts as he rolls back to the position he started in. He lays there for ten seconds or so before he lets out a deep sigh and climbs out of his bed. He walks up to a bedroom mirror and stares into his moonlit reflection.

“That’s not you, Machado. You don’t smash people with chairs. Especially not Freakke. Freakke is your friend. What are you doing?”

He tears away from the mirror, unable to look at himself. He walks back to his bed and sits down with his feet remaining on the floor. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration and rises out of bed once more. He storms up to the mirror and points an accusatory finger at himself.

“Then again – who are you, really? You haven’t won anything. You’ve yet to capture a single title - you threw away your shot at the Imperial championship and you didn’t do enough to win the Cruiserweight title. Maybe Bushido is right, maybe you’re a joke.”

Anger starts to build in Machado’s face as he scolds himself.

“Maybe you need to be the person that smashes people in the face with chairs. At least that way you’ll win a match or two, you naïve asshole.”

Machado grabs a bottle of “Dr. Honch’s mustache conditioner” and angrily chucks it into the mirror. Glass shatters and Machado falls to the ground holding his arm.

“OH GOD I’M GOING TO DIE”

A tiny shard of glass has wedged itself into Machado’s hand. Blood is trickling out. It’s but a flesh wound.

“MY ARMS OFF!”

Machado reaches up and fumbles with his phone

“SIRI – CALL 9-1-1!”

”Would you like me to find a run?”

“NO! SIRI – CALL 9-1-1!!!”

”I’ve found three runs, two of them are pretty far from you.”

“Oh God, I’m getting dizzy. I’m going to pass out…”

Machado gives in to his grievous wounds and falls unconscious.

---

The digital alarm-clock changes from 2:34 to 2:35AM

“Rise and shine – buttface!”

Machado drags his head up off the ground, holding it groggily in his hands.

“What? Where am I?”

“You’re in my world now!”

“Who..?”

Mike looks around, confused. He’s still in his room but it’s… different. The bed is heart-shaped and seems to be vibrating. There are black lights surrounding the room, along with various BDSM toys and other, more disturbing things. Mike turns to the voice coming out from the doorway and looks up to see… Mike Machado? Except he’s different, too. His eyes are wild, his hair is short and styled with hair gel and…

…his mustache is gone.

“WHO ARE YOU? WHERE AM I!?”

The man in the doorway laughs maniacally.

“I’m you, Mike! Or at least, I’m what you could be. I’m Wes Wachado!”

“Where is your…my…”

He can’t even bring himself to say it. Machado’s hand comes up to his upper lip to feel for the mustache. It’s still there. Wes chuckles.

“My mustache? It’s gone.”

“Why would you..? What kind of monster…?”

“I wax all hair on my body. Including that unseemly upper-lip.”

Machado recoils in horror.

“You see, Mike – when you’re a winner like me - when you’re a champion like I am, people expect certain things from you. They expect you to go on talk shows, and to go to elementary schools to give speeches to children; And you can’t do that with a pedophile mustache.”

“Studies show that pedophiles are no more likely to…”

Machado is cut off as Wes Wachado makes his way into the room. Behind him follows a beautiful blonde woman. A naked beautiful, blonde woman. The camera pans to Wes’ POV – nothing naughty is shown.

“Don’t worry Mike, she can’t see you.”

Wes’ ‘company’ shoots him a puzzled glance.

“Who’s Mike? Am I being filmed?”

She’s obviously not bothered by the idea. Wes chuckles.

“No, babe, not tonight. Don’t worry about it.”

Mike’s jaw drops wide-open. The woman accepts Wes’ non-explanation and she climbs into his heart-shaped, vibrating bed. Mike manages to stammer out a question

“Is she your… are you married…to her!?”

Wes lets out a belly-laugh.

“Married? Of course not.”

Wes turns to the mystery-woman.

“Look, it’s getting late. One of us has to leave; And this is my house, so…”

She sits up and pouts.

“But Wes… I thought we were going to play ‘kidnapper’?”

“Next time.”

Wes reaches to the floor and tosses a pile of clothes at the woman. He nods to Machado and walks out of the bedroom. Mike takes a final, astonished look back at the woman before following Wes.

“Mike Machado: welcome to WachadoWorld”

Wes holds his hands out to present a magnificent foyer. The walls are adorned with expensive decorations and paintings – an extravagant chandelier hangs from the ceiling illuminating what appears to be an endless row of doors.

“This…This is where you live?”

Wes hangs back, and Machado approaches a fantastic spiral staircase leading to the foyer.

“It is where I live. You could, too. If you were just a little more like… me.”

With the last word, Wes Wachado shoves Mike Machado down the staircase. Mike tumbles head over feet before coming to a heap at the bottom. He lays there, unmoving and unconscious.

---

The digital alarm-clock changes from 2:39 to 2:40AM. Machado begins to stir back to consciousness in his room. His real room. His ordinary, unimpressive one-bedroom apartment room.

“...Wes?”

Machado looks around the apartment. He is alone.

“Just a dream.”

Mike winces at his hand, which has stopped bleeding already. He pulls himself to his feet and looks into the shattered mirror in front of him. For a fraction of a second, it isn’t him staring back – but Wes Wachado.

“WHAT?!”

Machado’s hand shoots up to his face. The mustache is still intact. He looks back up into the shards of the mirror and it’s once again Mike looking back at him.

“Who... am I?”

---

Last week, I did something that was called “out of character” for me.

I put Freakke in the hospital.

It was a cheap shot. It was despicable. It was something that Jake Keeton would do – not something Mike Machado would do.

But – I won.

I don’t want to be that guy. I don’t want to take the easy way out. I want to be the guy that stands for everything that’s right. I want to be Joe Everyman, not Xander. I’ve always said – it’s all about the fans. It’s about entertaining them, and giving them something to live up to.

That’s still who I am.

But I will not be “mediocre” anymore.

It’s not going to cut it against Bushido. It’s not going to gain me a Cruiserweight title.

This week, I’m going to be doing some announcing – but that’s not all. I need to know who I am – I need to know if I have what it takes to do this. I’m taking Trent Helms’ spot at the announcers table – and dammit, I want to take his spot as the best cruiserweight this profession has ever seen.

So – I’ll set out, like a college student. I’m going to learn from the best the world has to offer. I’m going to find a way to become more than mediocre, without turning into something that I don’t want to be.

I am not “mediocre”.

I am Mike Machado.