Post by "Godly" Ken Davison on Sept 22, 2012 16:16:41 GMT -6
The black screen stares blankly at the viewers for a few moments before the words break the monotony of silence.
”The word “epilogue” is literally a speech, usually in verse, delivered by one of the actors after the conclusion of a play. But wait, by your own logic, how can this be an epilogue? So nice of you to ask. The end is the beginning is the end. The end of one chapter of my career has lead to the creation of the next. I've already seen nursery rhymes and hyperbole. I do not delve into such senseless drivel. This is reality and I deal with the facts. The fact is that I'm prepared to cut the grass and let the snakes show themselves.”
The blanket of the night's darkness has covered the sky. The thick clouds force the light of the moon to try and fight through them. Still, it's a breezy spring evening, comfortable to those nocturnal creature roaming the streets at this hour. The squeal of coming off the rails of the New Jersey Transit train on the tracks above is unmistakable. The doors open, and the solitary sound of boots hitting the pavement can be heard. The fact that any passengers were getting off at this hour was unusual.
The sonic waves echo down the stairwell and into the poorly lit tunnel. The fluorescent flickering of artificial illumination failed to provide the greatest lighting. The top of the tunnel was painted a sort of beige, the sort that caused the months, possibly years of dirt to cover and stain it. The bottom half of the circular walls wasn't much better. It was painted a hunter green, which concealed some of the dirt. Black engineer boots hit the pavement, and a man wearing a black trench coat enters the tunnel. He glares down at the camera.
If this were an action movie this would be the part where all the faceless, nameless thugs, punks or ninjas would leap out at our hero. But this is reality. This isn't an action movie and this man is no hero. In fact, he has been known for years as the antithesis of what a hero would stand for.
”For those of you who have been living under a rock, my name is “Godly” Ken Davison. I came to New Championship Wrestling for one reason and one reason only... that is to reign over the NCW as I have lorded over almost every other promotion I have been associated with.”
“Unlike my opposition, I am not going to sit hear and run my man pleaser like Curtis D. Kanyon. The man speaks as though he knows me, when the truth is he only knows has only been derived from the results of his own delirium. I am going to explain something to you, Kanyon. Now before I do, I want you to sit down, shut up and pay attention. I am going to say this nice and slow so you and the other mongoloids that I am being to forced to sully my hands against can understand. When I step between those ropes...”
Davison pauses, just a moment, for effect.
”I … AM … GOD!”
Davison smirks into the camera.
”You don't survive using a monicker such as “Godly” through seventeen years in this business if you aren't able to back it up. Kanyon, other than the fact the last time you stepped between those ropes without someone else to watch your back, I stomped you so bad that you should still be in hiding. I don't know who you are and the fact of the matter is I don't gave a damn, either. I do what I say and I say what I do. I am not some mythology quoting simpleton. I am the most erudite, intellectual that you will ever come across in the squared circle. I have the physical and mental prowess to pick you apart piece by piece. Even more unfortunately for you, I also lack the remorse not to do so. The time I spent in my former employ was all part of my master plan... a plan that may or may not grace the rings of NCW. You have not seen the things that I have seen, Kanyon. You have not survived the things I have survived. I assure you of that.”
Davison holds his hands up to the camera, revealing a massive, round, circular scar on each of his palms.
”Have you been crucified before, Curtis? I somehow doubt it.”
Davison lowers his hands. Before he proceeds forward, he takes a moment to survey the area around the parking lot. Satisfied that there was no reason for trepidation, Davison begins walking away from the train station.
”I look at you and all I see is that we have another stereotypical “monster” who feels compelled to weigh in on what he thinks he knows about the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison. Let me give you a little insight into how I operate. I am going to spend April 24th sitting back, relaxing after a nice long session of training, basking in the glory of another victory. What you are doing, Curtis, is wandering through the desert and gazing upon a mirage. You are so full of **** you've got brown eyes. You've got nothing of relevance that you can say about me so you make up so ridiculous fairy tales about how you are going to tear my head clean off my neck in the name of Thor. I'm not afraid of you, little man, and I will take you out at the knee first chance I get.”
Davison pauses in front of a wooden bench and inspects it before sitting down on the cleanest portion of it.
”The issue I have with Kanyon and just about everyone else flapping their gums is their intent. They intend to make me look bad by pulling these little pieces of fiction and presenting them as being true. The fact of the matter is that I could care less what you have to say about me, ladies and gentlemen. Because when it is all said and done, “Godly” Ken Davison will be standing in the middle of the ring with his arm raised in victory, just as I have done time and time again.”
“I am supposed to stand here and tell you that Kanyon is truly is the nightmare he claims to be. I am supposed to stand here and tell you that The Ace was as slick as his name would imply and that there isn't anything intimidating about Markus Reeves aside from his breath. And I am NOT supposed to tell you that Joe Everyman looks like that nerd that got picked on in high school with a good personal trainer and a bad dye job. There's one small problem with all of that. I'd be lying.”
“With the turnover of the smaller companies in this business, I've been through this very situation dozens of times before. The men in charge, in this case Fox, want me to prop my opposition up to make them seem more appealing to the public. They want me to build up this match because it makes their promotion look better. But I don't care what the Kendamned suits want.”
Davison stands up again, this time he begins walking down the street. Where the street goes, the camera crew has no idea. So long as they keep up with their subject, they will be content to have done their job.
”I have become NCW's “Abusement Park”, and each and every opponent I have had has jumped to the front of the line for each and every ride and leave the place looking like Disasterpiece Theater. People want to overlook me because they don't know the last place I wrestled? I am the member of not one... not two... but three Halls of Fame.”
“At least Charlie Velez was smart enough to ignore me... or maybe, just maybe, that was his fatal mistake. While he was by no means initimidated, he was by no means prepared for what I brought to the table, either. But for now, I have to worry about you, don't I, Kanyon?”
“You think that because you are physically imposing that somehow equates to physically intimidating. Wrong answer, chucklehead. I am going to walk up to Kanyon, slap him across the face and then cut him down to size. And if anyone else wants to grow a pair and come down to the ring, they will meet the same fate. When I came into this business seventeen years ago, big men still ruled the landscape. It seemed like my opponents were at least half a foot taller and outweighed me fifty pounds on a weekly basis. Yet here I am, still standing in front of you. Where are they? Most of them are hobbling around with their walkers because their legs can no longer hold their weight.”
Davison and turns, making certain that he isn't talking to himself.
”Faster! It shouldn't be that hard to keep up with me, monkeys.”
Davison snaps his fingers and gestures with his hand for the camera crew to begin following him once again.
”Perhaps the most amusing thing is the sheer and utter ignorance around here. Maybe you should have done your research. UPRISE Openweight Champion... “Godly” Ken Davison. UWA World Champion... “Godly” Ken Davison. Those companies folded shortly after I left. That fact alone shows my value to a promotion. By that virtue, that proves that my star power is going to be the reason that all the peons at home prevent themselves from changes the channel when they see the other “talent” that NCW has to offer.”
“The pure and simple truth is that in a match such as this, there are so many variables. But through it all, there is one constant. “Godly” Ken Davison is the be all and end all. I am the Alpha and the Omega. I do what I want, when I want, to who I want.”
Davison continues walking, brushing the camera crew off with a dismissive wave of his hand and the camera fades to black as he walks away.
”People carry on with their lives for various reasons. Some people strive to make the lives of the people around them better. Others choose self-advancement above all else. There are social climbers... gold diggers... and people who cling to life itself because it's all they have. Then there is that select group of people that just want people to be as miserable as they are. Someone recently told me that I was trying to be too nice. That I was becoming too soft. It's time to rectify that.”
The Sony Jumbotron looms high overhead standing out even amidst the skyscrapers of New York City. Cabbies fly past in a yellow flurry, cutting each other off with the precision of a NASCAR driver. People hustle and bustle past each other, shoving each other out of the way, not caring one way or the other who or what is blocking their path. On every corner there is some sort of food or craft vender, or some homeless person begging for money. Even Madison Square Garden, the “World’s Most Famous Arena” houses various vagrants and miscreants. Police officers stroll past, seemingly mindless of all the hubris surrounding them.
All this is going on, people and cars moving in a blur due to the wonders of technology. What stands out is the man standing still in the middle of all of this. Dressed in black robes, he stands with his arms extended. His back is to the camera, but something about the man gives you the hint that he is no ordinary street preacher. In fact, something about him seems… familiar. As the camera gets closer, the world around this man seems to slow down to a normal speed. The man turns around slowly, revealing himself to be “Godly” Ken Davison. Even behind his red tinted glasses, he is forced to squint as the setting sun shines brightly in his eyes. He turns back around and waits for the film crew to force it’s way through the crowd to get a good angle for the shoot.
”The streets of New York City have always been a, for lack of a better word, special place. When you look around lower Manhattan, you can see people from all walks of life. The city doesn’t discriminate. It doesn’t care if you are a man, woman, child, black, white, red, green, blue, or purple. There is a lot you could learn from the city. From the dealers selling drugs in Harlem to the Asians selling bootleg DVDs on Canal Street, from the beggers taking whatever money they can to the men and women who endured the tragedy of the Twin Towers, this city will teach you one very important lesson… survival.
Davison hops down off the platform he was standing on, and begins walking.
”So what does all of this have to do with anything? What does this have to do with myself, Curtis D. Kanyon or NCW in general? Everything. When I look at my opponents, they are interchangeable with almost any of this worthless, faceless drones walking the street. And while I, too have at times maintained some degree of anonymity. I spent my time away from the spotlight training others on how to handle themselves in the ring. The concept of ring rust is a foreign concept to me. I am a specimen to be envied. Regardless if I am wrestling or not, I am always in peak physical condition.
Davison stops and gets a bottle of water. He then continues walking as the camera crew continues following behind him.
”This body is a temple, a shrine, a testament to clean living. I keep in shape. I maintain a strict diet. I am a machine. I eat, breathe and sleep wrestling. I am not here to have fun. I am here to do a job and my job to make people like you miserable. And while I may have had my issues, I assure you, Kanyon, that I am still in better condition than you.”
Davison pauses for a moment, looking down at an almost toothless old man sitting at his feet with a beaten down cardboard coffee cup sitting next to him.
”Hey, buddy, you want some water?”
”Please.”
Davison takes his bottle of water and dumps it on the man’s head. As the guy catches his wits, he starts grumbling at Davison who is already walking off.
”Enjoy your shower.”
Davison continues walking up Broadway without missing a beat.
”That’s the problem with people like him, people like you. You are parasites, leaching off of those that far more motivated, far more talented, harder working, and honestly, just plain better than you. Quite frankly, it’s hard for me to take any of you seriously. There is constant conversation about people going on the become World Champion. That's all fine and good, I suppose. The old saying goes, “It's not the size of the dog in the fight. It's the size of the fight in the dog.” I didn't leave a promotion while holding their top championship to come here to NCW and play second fiddle to a wrestlers like Roberto Verona, Charlie Velez, Lex Sense and least of all, you, Kanyon. That's for Kendamned certain.”
Davison stops momentarily, waiting for traffic signal to change.
”As I said you don't see too many guys who refer to themselves as "Godly" who don't bring something worthwhile to the table. You don’t survive in this business with a moniker like “Godly” without being to back it up. Let alone do it for over a decade and a half. “Legend,” perhaps, that is open to debate, I will grant you that. But, “Hall of Famer”, that is something that cannot be questioned. I never attached that to myself, former employers of mine have chosen to give me that distinction, thrice, might I remind you.”
“Now you are not going to be the ones to tell me what I do and do not realize. What I realize is that you fail to understand that I am not speaking in hyperbole and rhetoric, that I am speaking in pure and simple fact. What I realize is that you are certainly not the sharpest knives in the drawer because you all make the mistake of underestimating me..”
Davison rolls his eyes at the camera.
”That quite frankly astounds me, Kanyon. So, let me make this all clear for you, children… crystal clear. This world is a harsh place and the world turns a blind eye to the truth. However, some people need to face reality.”
Davison stops in front of the entrance to a decent sized brick building. He takes a moment to survey his surroundings before he walks in. The room on the inside looks something like high school cafeteria. You can see the stains from years of use all along the black and white checkered floor. A few seconds in, people of various ages begin sitting in the wooden seats, mostly older teens and young adults. As they all sit down, they begin introducing themselves.
”Welcome to Life Support. We are a group for people living with or dealing with HIV and AIDS. First, let’s begin by introducing ourselves. Shall we?
”Daren.”
”Um… I’m Jenny.”
”Gordon.”
”Pam.”
”Sue.”
”I’m Paul. Let’s begin.”
”Excuse me, Paul. I'm having a problem with this… this whole thing you’ve got going on here. Man, my T-cells are low. That pisses me off.”
”That’s fine. But let me ask you a question. Gordon, how do you feel today?”
”What do you mean?”
”How do you feel as opposed to most other days?”
”Okay, I guess.”
”You guess?”
”Well, it’s the best I felt all year.”
”Then why is it just okay?”
”Look, I don’t get how this whole feely emotional crap works, alright? I deal with facts and figures. I try and open up, ya’ know. But logic says I should've kicked the bucket three years ago, before my buddies Whitney, Davy and Dick. I was diagnosed first. Why are they gone?”
You hear the door slam into the wall as a man walks in wearing priest’s robes, hiding his eyes behind tinted glasses. He circles the room, staring each member of Life Support down individually as he does so.
”Excuse me. Can I help you?”
”I somehow doubt it.”
Paul tries to stare this interloper down. You can see from the fact that he hardly maintains eyes contact that he is nervous.
”Who the hell are you?”
”I know this guy… he’s some wrestler.”
”Shut up, monkey. I am more than just “some” wrestler. I am “Godly” Ken Davison.”
”What the hell does that have to do with real life?”
”I teach people about “real life.” Real life sucks losers dry. You want to screw with the eagles, you had better learn to fly.”
”You teach people how to spread their wings and fly?”
”Yes.”
”You’re beautiful.”
”I know.”
”Beautiful? He just walked in here like he owns the place.”
”You know, I really should buy the place. I like it. It's got that what-a-cruel-world-let's-toss-ourselves-in-the-abyss type ambiance.”
”This is a meeting for people who have real problems. You need to leave.”
”I need to leave? Are you serious right now? I need to leave? Let me explain something to you, little man. “Godly” Ken Davison does what he wants, where he wants, when he wants. I don’t take orders from you or any other person in this world.”
”Let me rephrase that. Get out or I am calling the police.”
”We’ve gone from orders to demands… how cute. The problem is all I hear coming out of your mouth is an annoying buzzing vaguely reminiscent of the vuvuzela. The problem with idiots like you is that you sit there and have this “Woe is me” attitude. You are all going to be dead soon. If you weren’t so busy engaging in decadent behavior, then you wouldn’t have been handed your death sentences.”
Gordon tries to speak up, but Davison cuts him off.
”I wasn’t finished, monkey. You partake in such sinful behavior like homosexuality. For all I know, you might have gotten HIV from your dirty needles.”
Gordon again tries to speak up, but Davison just dismisses him with a wave of his hand.
”Or maybe…”
Gordon raises his hand.
”What is it, monkey?”
”I was born with the disease.”
”Well, then, your whore mother should have swallowed.”
Gordon stands up with a look of anger etched across his face. Davison steps towards him and Gordon backs down, giving up about four inches and a good deal of muscle mass to his aggressor.
”Men like Curtis D. Kanyon have yet to see the error of their ways. But you… you are all the lowest of the low. I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”
Davison stands on one of the chairs, preaching to an unappreciative audience.
”Of course, there is hope. You still have time to give your lives purpose. It might be too late for you, but there is a lesson to be learned here. You can spread my Gospel. You can tell your family. Tell your friends. Tell the homeless guy at the shelter in basement. The path of “Godly” Ken Davison is the path of the righteous. I came to the NCW to become their true paragon of virtue. That is the very same reason why I have come to visit you here today. It is up to you what you do with my words. If you doubt my sincerity, tune in to NCW’s Battle Grounds. Tune in and watch what I do to the sinners that have been set before me. Because the GKD, “Godly” Ken Davison is not going to be the victim. Because when you’re God, you don’t have to break the rules. YOU MAKE THEM!
Davison jumps down and kicks over an empty chair as he walks out, the confused looks on the faces of the Life Support members tells the story. The feed cuts out the screen goes to static.
