Main Event - Titans of the Midway Championship

Platinum sheen and “Pure Morning” fade to the pretty face of Johnny Rake, dressed in a long-sleeved green sweater and dark jeans, link by the Titan of the Midway belt. Johnny is smiling as usual, wearing a blue lip ring and three eye brow piercings; two left, one right. Strung over his shoulders is his whiffleball bat, almost giving Johnny the appearance of a hipster scarecrow.

Johnny: “Well well, didn't we have a productive show eight? I know I did, what with not impressing CJ O'Donnell as I beat him. Wanna take those words back yet, Caleb? Of course you do. But you're not the topic to open on, that comes way further down the list. First things first, and though I'm a little late, happy Four-Twenty everyone! Figure if there's any group who isn't going to judge me for being late it's my fellow revelers of yesterday's glorious feast. We got sixteen people, a pound of some amazing shit, I'm sure someone told me the name, but I kinda somehow got high and forgot it. Shit happens. Anyway, the goal of the day was to hotbox until we couldn't see across Mike's mancave, not a sex thing, and I'd say we succeeded admirably. Though people kept opening the door and letting the smoke out, so we had to keep refilling it. Woe is life.”

The Most Liberated Man in Professional Wrestling brings a hand theatrically to his brow, glancing away from the camera for a moment before returning with a smile.

Johnny: “All in all, pretty good day. Of course, there is but very little rest for the wicked, and not much more rest until Wicked number nine. And so I will turn my attentions away from the surprisingly well acknowledged yearly celebration of pot smoking, and talk about my job for a little while. Seems only fair. And it's hard to know where to start today. Shit has happened. I suppose my most immediate concern is my first title defense against Calvin Harris. The self proclaimed number one contender who is once again insulted to be fighting for my Titan of the Midway belt. And I've got a lot to say there, but I think it'll more naturally fit a little later on. The number one contendership, also a topic I've got the urge to weigh in on, but first, I think I need to address a question.”

Johnny rolls his fingers and pulls from his sleeve a joint. The Thigh-High Thriller lights up and uses the jay as an impromptu pointer.

Johnny: “Now, this question wasn't asked specifically to me. Maybe not even precisely of me. But it's me who's answering, and I think we can all just live with that. I'm talking about the GZW invasion. If, indeed, invasion is what it can be called. Twice they've gotten in and done some damage, sure. But the first time it was to a man who didn't work for our company, and then the second time it was to the same man moments after he had signed on to our company. I still haven't properly met the dude. And a lot was made that night about how no one came out to help. I could tell you all my excuse, but I didn't help either so in the end the why not isn't hugely relevant. But as for why no one else did, well, I can offer theory.”

Johnny takes another hit, french rolling then blowing a smoke ring, letting the rest of the smoke out with a toothy grin.

Johnny: “This company has somehow, for a regional promotion based outta Purity, Louisiana, managed to put together some of the most talented wrestlers I've ever walked among. Some of the fiercest competition of my career has already happened in this promotion and we haven't even made it to show ten yet. We are all hot to be the best of this group, to stand up head and shoulders above the cream of the crop and know that you are the best, to know that the world, or at least Purity, Louisiana, knows you're the best. We each want to be the one, the guy, the name that flashes through your head when you think of PAW. How in all of Gaga's green earth do you think we're going to be able to suddenly all pivot and fight off an invading force?”

The Sissyboy Savior holds up a finger and gives the camera bemused shake of the head.

Johnny: “Now, if it's true that you should measure yourself not with your friend but with your enemies, then I have some gripes with GZW in general, and with John Champa, specifically. John, I don't get it. The first time you dropped Saint, alright. He's a big dude, didn't agree with you, you were all full of piss and vinegar, though I will note you didn't do too much to try and get one of us down there. So you sucker punched a giant, promised big things, and told me you were something I hadn't seen before. Which was a bald faced lie, because arrogant asshole, though fun and often entertaining, is pretty damn common. As is big bad invader who has to destroy something to feel like a big man. Munin jumped ship with her belts because she seemed to think GZW was no longer able to provide competition, and you respond by not attempting to compete with any of us.”

Johnny has a look of realization, seemingly genuine.

Johnny: “Huh. You know what, I haven't seen that before. Guess I was wrong John, you did show me something new. But if you want to actually prove something to the PAW fans, if you want to show me that you're more than a buzzing fly, annoying but not a threat, then show me. But if all you want to do is run around, jumping people mid match and being assholes, then don't expect the time of day from me.”

The American Wet Dream fixes a non-existent out of place hair, then continues.

Johnny: “Moving on. Let's talk Calvin Harris. The Martyr of Professional Wrestling. What a fucking joke that is. You think it was martyrdom when Alex Cross and I beat you halfway into last week? Cause I think it was the natural end result of a kid who wants to come in, run his mouth, and not have to pay for it. Seems to me that all the world could see we teamed up 'cause you were the one up there being a disrespectful little shit, talking like we hadn't been in the same company for a month and acting like you were the only one who'd ever had his hand raised. But no, you saw that as a conspiracy. You found another when Tyler Keenan jumped you while teaming; I think you're just not a people person. Do real well at pissing them off.”

A chagrined smile from the Brutiful One.

Johnny: “So, I already don't like you 'cause you're a whiner. I continue to not like you for being the kind of man who throws around hate speech and gets baffled when people give a shit. Of course, that assumes you were listening to me but if not, well, then this is gonna be all the more surprising for you. I love hitting boys who think cock sucker is an insult. They're always a little surprised by just how much hurt and anger I can get into one swing. But then, they shouldn't be, I am an expert on cramming it in.”

A coquettish wink from Johnny Raike.

Johnny: “So, while I already disliked you personally, I was willing to give you a chance professionally. Even when you walked out to the ring last show,talking like a man with one win might who actually believes his claim to the number one contendership. Kinda want to know how your argument holds up this week, seeing as I've also pinned the number one contender. No doubt you still say it's you; you did get there first. But I guess that's just a side thing to settle when you face me in a ladder match for my Titan of Midway championship. Though I will say, with a pin over you- or, well, ladder climb, and a pin over CJ, I might just have to petition to skip the line a bit, get some new blood up in the title scene. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. But let us return to reasons I don't like Calvin Harris.”

A quick puff before continuing.

Johnny: “Shortly after finding out that Munin had seen fit to reward his one win, significant though it may be, with a shot, the first shot, at my Titanship, Calvin Harris had the nerve, the sheer gall and gumption to complain about being given a shot at, airquotes everybody, second place.”

Johnny stares hard into the camera, the effects of the cannabis not stopping the loathing from rolling out. The Beautiful Nightmare taps his belt.

Johnny: “That's why you'll never get this, not from me. You see this belt as an insult, a consolation prize to make you stop whining. You think this belt means I am capped, the number two, never as good. Well, step one a belt means what you make it mean, honey. If you think what you're fighting for has limits, has a built in ceiling, then you won't and can't fight as hard as I will. Because step two is you understanding that this isn't my rank so far as the heavyweight standing go. This is to show I'm a Titan, a hard fighting, hard partying, gentle loving more often then not, hellcat of a man. This belt puts me at the top of an entire division. What I'll have to do to keep this belt, not just from you but from anyone, is be more clever, is think further ahead, is survive one move longer, flourish in the hell that is hardcore matches. And it can't just be something you're doing. That's what I've come to realize. It has to be something you feel, something you are. Hell, I spent the last couple of years thinking like you. That king of death matches, of hardcore, that all my talent with weaponry and problem solving was for nothing, that it made me second best. But I was wrong. It's the thought all great warriors have at some point; good is good. If you're at your best with a broomstick in your hand, then that's what you should do. If you can be great in both, then congrats because you might be Johnny Raike. Or a hell of a lot of other people, but point made. This isn't a consolation. This isn't something for the people to ooh and aah at while they're waiting for the main event. This is the main event. We are closing this show down, and why wouldn't we? Pure Amusement wanted a titan, and on April twenty-eighth you are going to see that this titan rules his patch of the world with skill, tenacity, and the stinging power of a whiffleball bat. Don't worry about the razor boots this time honey, it's hell on my laces.”

A wide eyed smile from Johnny Raike.

Johnny: “Ladder match for the Titan of the Midway championship. Not quite so many fun things as the midway itself, but certainly no lack of offensive options for the clever. Plus, of course, the things we can carry. You remember the bat from the last time we tangled for this belt. I hit you really hard in the back of the head. So, actually, you might not remember. It was painful, I should know. I'm the one who hit you. Don't worry, you'll get a chance to recall. Probably have a couple of other little surprises, I am so fond of surprises. My dates aren't always, but that's the chance you take in New York. The first Pure Amusement ladder match, and my third Pure Amusement main event. I intend to take full advantage of it. I'm building up the prestige of the Titan of the Midway. I'm cementing my claim to the next Pure Amusement title shot. And I'll climb to the top of every High Peak to keep my belt, let alone one little ladder. So come fight for second place, Calvin. It's where I intend to leave you.”

On that challenge from the Sissyboy Savior, and an accompanying little finger wave, the screen returns once more to platinum and “Pure Morning” before fading to the Raike in the Cash logo.