Main Event - Johnny Raike versus Jack Nomad

Saturday, June 17

Cold open, no colors or music, on Johnny Raike.  The Thigh High Thriller looks disheveled; stubbly and slumped down in his captains chair, wearing baggy lounge gear, clearly in mid flight.  The eyes of the American Wet Dream show a sense of mental fatigue, and a touch of defeat.

Johnny:  "It's hard, once the adrenaline has worn off, once you've relived your match in full for the seventh time and you're still only halfway across the Atlantic, not to start going to the darker places.  The what ifs, the if onlys, the things you'd do if you were in charge, etcetera.   And for me, this particular little dark patch, well, I went back and forth as to whether or not I would even talk about it.  Would anyone really care, does the world need me as a Professional Wrestler who actively refers to himself as a fuckboi to comment?  Am I violating the memories of the dead to talk publicly about Orlando?  I don't know.  I really don't.  But I've had a while to think, and I... I need to talk about this.  'Cause fucking damn it am I tired of tragedy."

Johnny pulls himself up in the chair, gripping the arm rests, right hand tapping out a nervous beat.  The face of Johnny Raike is pale, the brown eyes showing not even a spark of their usual mirth.

Johnny:  "Largest mass shooting in U.S. history.  A record broken with such alarming frequency that it almost feels meaningless.  But it's not.  Forty-nine people are dead because one asshole couldn't stand the idea of two men kissing.  I should be more charitable.  Like all the shooters he was mentally ill, like so many Americans he wasn't being treated, never diagnosed.  I should remember that the shooter grew up in the same world I did, a world telling him that to be gay, or lesbian, or bi, trans, really anything off the binary was evil.  Fuck, he grew up in my world, only gay and lesbian probably existed to him as a child and then only as object of hate or ridicule.  It's not his fault that so much of his background and culture warped him mind into hate.  But I fucking hate him.  And I hate the rote response to each new attack, each new tragedy.  Every time some beaten down, tortured LGBT kid takes their own life, everyone takes to their social media to damn the causes, damn the bullies.  And a day later you're back to calling each other gay and derisively inviting one another to suck dick.  Never understanding that that makes you a part of the problem."

Johnny leans forward now, shiny tear tracks running down his face and glistening in the poor light of the cabin.

Johnny:  "People always want to know just what to do after a tragedy, after an attack.  But no one really wants to change.  And why would we?  So many of us are comfortable, our lives are easy.  Sure, getting the shit beat out of me on a regular basis is a challenge, but I'm not out there solving crimes or curing cancer.  Most of us aren't.  And while you might be unhappy right after shit goes bad, unless it actually touches you, you'll probably let it go.  Return to the status quo.  And that's understandable.  Change is hard, and knowing how and what to change is harder.  I can't sit here and tell you I have all the answers, but I can tell you what I do know.  We, and by we I mean western civilization, love to hate on stuff.  It makes us feel so much better when we have things to unite against.  We suck at uniting for a thing, at least for any length of time.  But united by dislike?  Oh, that can last for years.  Don't believe me?  What do you think of when you hear communist?"


Johnny smirks and gives a small flare of the nostrils.  His right hand continues to skitter about, a physical representation of the anxiety currently flowing through the Titan of the Midway.

Johnny:  "Currently the most successful hatreds are against the Mexicans and the Muslims.  In fact, many want to call Orlando simply another Muslim terrorist attack.  More proof of how bad Islam is.  Except that Islam does in fact teach non-violence, the shooter was raised in this country and has been described as non-religious, and that answer makes it far to easy to let ourselves off the hook.  We have created the mess around us, and we need to start at least trying to clean it up.  And no collection will do that, no petition you can sign will fixed what is fucked up unless you all start doing something about it.  You have to change the tone and the tenor of not just the conversation on mass shootings, not just on the discussion of world religions, but on all conversations.  All of them.  Not just in public, all of them.  When your friend calls someone fag, you should be reacting like they just said nigger.  Don't like that I just said that?  Neither do I, but sometimes you need a point of reference to help people understand.  And I don't give a single flying fuck what Louie C.K. or South Park said, fag is an anti-gay slur.  You grew up having even a slight urge to see what the other boys have behind their jocks, you now what that word means.  When you get older you realize it's also anti-woman, because of course it is, that's the world we've allowed."

An unpleasantly sarcastic smile from Johnny Raike, accented by a double thumbs up. Tears are starting to pool at the corner of his eyes again, but Johnny hardly seems to notice.

Johnny:  "Yes, in case you hadn't heard, anti-gay slurs are also anti-woman.  At heart, insults against gay men seek to compare them to woman.  Generally with the implications of being weak and submissive.  Fuck, half the time the insult is just calling a man a woman!  You're being shitty to two classes of people in one go.  Almost impressive, if it weren't so shitty.  But this hatred of women that the world, and not just the western world, just can' seem to let go of, that's what we need to fix.  I know what your might be thinking, the gunman didn't massacre a women's college, clearly he hates the LGBT plus community.  And, yes, that is his expression of the hatred he's been taught.  But if we could stop being afraid of women, then we could stop being afraid of men who act like women, women who act like men, and all the people who act like neither because fuck labels.  We hate on everything women do, and then spread that hate to anyone who does anything like it.  And, of course, when a women does act like a man, we shame her for it.  And I mean both the trans-men who get the stink eye just trying to use the bathroom and the twenty year old out trawling the bar for cock.  We call them trannies and sluts, respectively.  This double standard is not a new thing, but since it still hasn't changed, I still feel the need to point it out."

Johnny pulls his legs up under him, sitting back in the chair, though his back never touches the fabric.

Johnny:  "I think the most common insult in all of wrestling is bitch.  Thrown around constantly.  And not for nothing.  We've turned it into quite a versatile little word.  Never for anything pleasant; at best you're clinically referring to a female dog.  I went through my life, after realizing just how much I hate being referred to by slurs, and eliminated the word from my vocabulary.  It's one of the best ways to confront having issues with other types of people in your life, refusing to class them together by derogatory names.  Forces you to see them as real people.  And I think that's the part so many people dislike, the having to think before they speak part.  You hear a lot of grumbling about censorship and social justice warriors.  It's not censorship though, it's choice.  Remember that the shit you say doesn't float out into the void, meaningless and pointless.  What we say forms the background tapestry of our culture, what we all say is how we know who's in and who's out.  When you spew out a steady stream of petty hatreds, when you reduce being gay, or bi, or a woman to the realm of insult, you don't get to be surprised when Orlando happens.  You helped.  You helped something like that happen.  And you probably can't see.  Probably won't want to make a change; it's easier and more fun to turn your head and pretend you can't see.  But hey, maybe I can get through to one of you.  At least that would be a start.  And we have to start."


Hard cut to black screen.


Monday, June 20

Scarlet red and "Pure Morning" can mean only one thing and indeed we return to the Astoria, Queens home of Johnny Raike. The Panty Wearing Panty Dropper is seated behind a kitchen table, thumbtacks and glue sticks spread before him, clad in a "Slut Life" apron and no shirt. Johnny is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, but smiles at the camera, bright and sunny.

Johnny:  "Hi guys!  Welcome back to arts and crafts day at the Raike house, being just a few days away from my no disqualification match with Jack Nomad.  Got to make sure all my little toys are ready.  Some might say gluing tacks to a leather riding crop is overkill, but to them I say live a little.  We all have our own vices, it's just about finding ways that are legal to indulge them.  What two consenting adults do to each other in the confines of that ring is your concern, but it's my business.  And I aim to have business pick up."

Johnny pick up a joint from among the brik-a-brak on the table in front of him and lights it, taking a deep drag and slowly exhaling through the nose.  His smile fades in brightness, becoming knowing and worldly instead.

Johnny:  "Now, the big question on a lot of minds is why?  Why did I ask for this match to be no disqualifications, didn't I see what Nomad did to Luke, haven't I just been through a war with Calvin Harris?  To that I shrug and say I'm the Titan of the Midway.  He's Hardcore Jack Nomad.  How could I not want this to be anything goes?  I'm not trying to leave a legacy of fear behind me, I intend to live up to the implied challenge that comes being the Titan.  Something it's previous holder never seemed to care about it, but that's why I took it back, didn't I?  And I'm interested to see just how much of a rival Nomad is to me and my title.  And, as we're never going to contest the Titan's championship in a one fall to a finish pure wrestling match, why bother having one now?  Showing off my many talents, perhaps, but I believe this is the better way."

The Most Liberated Man in Professional Wrestling winks coquettishly at the camera before taking another hit of his jay.  

Johnny:  "Now, a lot of people are saying I'm mad.  And I am, but that's at myself for losing to Harris, though I feel pretty secure that he won't be the one to collect Recoba's fifty grand.  I know a lot of fans and wrestlers have said I should have just let him walk out, and perhaps that's so, but fuck if I'm putting up with another cowardly little shit who won't face me down.  Won't face me fair, but I think we saw who thrives across every environment that night.  Spoiler, it was me, the guy not grabbing tights.  But I'm certainly not mad for challenging Jack Nomad to bring his everything.  I'm just determined.  See, unlike oh, I don't know, GZW, I can talk about being a badass, throw out a challenge, and then see it through.  I'm worried about a legacy, so I build one.  I got Nova Wonder as number one contender, I'm going to be in full Titan form.  If Wondergirl thinks I'm easy pickings then she had better be watching as the toughest man in Pure Amusement takes on the most sadistic.  I'll leave it up to you to decide who is who."

An enigmatic smile and raised eyebrow from the Hedonistic Hellcat, along with a small nod of the head.

Johnny:  "Nomad, I've no doubt you'll come into this match prepared.  Main eventing along side of Johnny Raike so often brings out the best in people, and it is our kind of rules, which is to say there aren't any.  I've had a hell of a few weeks, professionally and personally, and I need to work out a lot of aggression.  And one of the only people on this roster who I think can take the kind of beating I'm yearning to hand out is you, Nomad.  And, being as we're both men of the hardcore persuasion, you won't even take it personal.  Unless you do, always hard to say in our business.  And I am planning to do things to you that will hurt.  Probably hurt quite a lot.  But it won't mean anything, not unless you need it to.  I'm willing to forgive you anything you do to me in pursuit of a win, but I do have one request.  Leave Pixie backstage.  I'm not going to pull a Knux, I have no words for Alexandra, I just want this rules lite match to be a fair contest between two wrestlers.  Not that I couldn't fight a two on one, especially when I'm allowed to do anything that comes to mind, but it doesn't really do much to answer my questions as to which one of us is better when all the stops are pulled out.  Not that I'm usually one for pulling out."

Another drag off the joint, and Johnny gives an easy, if lustful, smile to the camera.

Johnny:  "I think you respect me, Jack, or at least my accomplishments.  Man or women, I'm the fightin'est person in Pure Amusement.  And while I get that telling you what to do might result in exactly the opposite happening, I'm still just Pollyanna enough to try anyway.  Because I'm betting, deep down inside, that you want to take me down all by yourself anyway.  Put me down and there could be a shot at gold in your future.  Fuck, take me down by yourself and I swear to Bowie I'll try and get the title match booked myself.  No ladders or table match kinda bullshit, but I'll do what I can.  Take me down as part of a duo, well, I'm a little less impressed and probably not spending any political capital to get shit done.  Seems like less of a clear cut booking decision.  And don't worry, I'm not expecting anything when I win.  Just another feather in my already very full cap, just another display of what championship material looks like.  And it looks good."

The Party Queen of Queens runs his finger slowly down his face, giving half shy, half fuck me smiles and eyes to the camera.  He stops after a moment, and gives a sly look to the camera.

Johnny:  "Don't get it twisted.  I'm still seeing visions of being the one to topple Press.  I have not and will not give up on that goal.  Hear rumors of a tag division popping up.  That's cool.  But that won't distract me.  I'm Titan of the Midway champion, and I will grow the legacy, make that mean something and I still will not lose sight of what I'm doing here.  I will not allow myself to be stopped and I have to think that everyone knows that.  But, as always, there are those who don't believe it.  Well, watch me get it done one more time, haters.  Watch me the best in bike shorts one more time, and see if you can't open up those closed little minds for me.  June twenty-third.  Houma, Louisana.  Buy tickets now or take your chances at the door.  But don't bring anyone squeamish, because I intend to go to war.  It's pretty comfortable territory for me.  See you then, lovelies.  Stay sexy for me."

A final big smile and a finger wave as the scene fades back into scarlet red and "Pure Morning," the Raike in the Cash logo popping up soon after