How are you?
Have you been well. I wasn’t, I was pretty ill to be honest with you.
Illness won’t stand in the way though, I must tell you a tale, a tale of a man called Cecilworth, his last name was and indeed is Farthington. He is quite a handsome man, a powerful man, a rich man. The sort of man who has his uncle following him around at all times to ensure that he doesn’t completely end up off the rails. That’s the kind of class that a Farthington can bring to the table. Pure unbridled Trumpian class.
So, what became of Cecilworth I hear you yell down the telephone line to your partially deaf grandmother. Well my friends, what became of him is where this story begins. I mean it begins in the here and now but through the engaging context and discussion that you are to become party to, you will learn with your brain minds of what became of the man who was Manager General of Utah’s Show of Wrestling.
Farthington: So… that Victory General, Vitor Belfort…
Barty: Michael Lorenzo…
Farthington: That’s what I just said. We’re saying the same thing. So… Vitor… he feels like he can somehow drag ME, Cecilworth Farthington, the most power and fancy man of the great state of Utah into some sort of blood sport ladder match on his puny, inferior wrestleman broadcast. Is that what you’re telling me? ME? LADDERS? ME?
Uncle Barty lets out a weary sigh in the flush-but-becoming-ever-more-decrepit office of the Wrestleshow General Manager at UTA HQ. Someone forgot to tell Cecilworth to hand over his key and he’s been showing up every day as punctual as he normally would (insert your own punchline here).
Cecilworth is sitting down at the desk, his feet perched up in the dusty table that hasn’t been attended to by the cleaning crew for weeks… probably under the sensible assumption that no one would be using the office until it was tore down and replaced with a Dick Fury Memorial Massage Parlour. Uncle Barty sits to his side, looking almost broken down at the thought of trying to explain to him once more than Wrestleshow is no more and he was fired from the job before its final show to boot.
Farthington: I mean, the troops Barty, the troops must see through Mandingo’s game. They must know that their dear leader shouldn’t show up to filthy Victory. I might get too close to a wild Sanctus…
Barty: That’s not a thing any more.
Farthington: Regardless! I am a golden god to these minions of mine, it would look very good to see the likes of my slumming it with those Victory peasants. Actually speaking of that…
Cecilworth licks his finger and runs it down the booking sheet that sits down atop his desk.
Farthington: When did we trade Scott Stevens, CBR and Kendrix to Victory and how much did we have to pay Mitchell Laurance to take Stevens? Like, how badly did the clearly high amount of bribery take for him to actually accept Stevens on his roster? Did you have to open my briefcase? I told you to never open that!
Uncle Barty rests his forehead upon his fist, more as a coping mechanism to the clear high levels of denial he is currently witnessing than any one particular comment.
Barty: My dear Cecilywecily, we went through this before. Wrestleshow is no more.
Farthington: So you’re saying we didn’t have to pay Ivan Putski anything to take Stevens? That’s a hell of a deal! Seriously though, who did we get for CBR and Kendrix, I assume you had something to do with the trade.
Barty slowly raises himself out of his chair, mops down his coffee stained referee t-shirt and looks down upon his dear young nephew.
Barty: Cecilworth, I don’t know how else to say this so I’m going to say it rather slowly to help you process the information.
Barty takes a deep breath in.
Cecilworth runs his fingers upon his jaw to show that he is a thoughtful man and he is contemplating things in a thoughtful manner… thoughtfully.
Farthington: So what am I General Manager of now then? After Hours? I thought that small gentleman who dressed like a mint was running that show. This still doesn’t explain how Scott Stevens still exists though. No, this doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.
The grip of Uncle Barty’s coffee cup snaps straight off due to the degree of stress that is currently inflicted upon him in attempting to explain the new lay of the UTA land.
Farthington: Plus if Wrestleshow didn’t exist any more, I wouldn’t be sitting in this office now would I? This office would cease to exist, it would disappear into a black hole and everyone in Utah would be talking about the weird black hole that used to be an office. Ergo, due to the lack of localised black holes, I therefore must still be General Manager of Wrestleshow. Now, back to business, how much will it cost to trade away Scott Stevens?
Barty: What do you have against Scott Stevens anyway?
Cecilworth casually shrugs his shoulders.
Farthington: No more than any other sane person. Well that and I fucking hate capricorns.
Barty: LANGUAGE YOUNG MAN! And don’t you besmirch the good name of capricorns either.
Cecilworth bows his head to acknowledge the shame he feels at using such rude language in front of his dear uncle.
Barty: Now you listen here young master. I want to make this very clear. You were fired from your job as Wrestleshow General Manager due to never actually showing up for work and constantly blaming kidnapping by Victory ninjas as the reason. You really can only go to that well once…
Farthington: BUT I WAS KIDNAPPED BY VICTORY NINJAS! God, those Victory ninjas, so dastardly. I think one of them was a brain inside a robot body…
Barty: No, you’re thinking of Krang from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoon.
Cecilworth’s eyebrows raise up sky high in the air as a smug, self-satisfied smile creeps across his face. He points his index finger wildly in the air as a gesture of victory. Not to be confused with Gesture of Victory, a very disappointing UTA themed porn parody. They even had a thin Bobby Dean. Disgusting! Point is, Cecilworth was excited and happy.
Farthington: Exactly! I was kidnapped by the Teenage Mutant Victory Ninja Turtles. All you are doing in validating what I’m saying
Barty: There is no such thing as a ninja turtle, my dear young friend and even if there was, you know they wouldn’t work for Victory.
Cecilworth hangs his head in quiet reservation.
Farthington: No, you’re right. Ninja Turtles sound much more like a Wrestleshow sort of talent. Icons, legends, going at a slow pace in a manner past their prime.
Barty: That wasn’t exactly your most successful advertising campaign, now was it?
Barty eyes up a banner hanging across the nearby bookshelf proclaiming “Wrestleshow: Come See Legends Past Their Prime, Before They Die” with Cecilworth’s signature underneath it.
Barty: Now are you willing to listen to me about this Victory deal?
Farthington nods sagely.
Farthington: I will listen to you but I do not promise to hear you.
Barty sighs another weary sigh, muttering “good enough” under his breath.
Barty: So, you were fired for not showing up for the job, the brands merged again and now everything is running under the Victory banner. Following me so far…
Farthington: The brands merged? So Mike and Alex and Sektor are on Victory now? Like, are they waiting for me to show up with my secret Machine handshake and then we’ll finally reveal our secret plan to take over by getting Ron Hall to make secret deals with James Wingate about his retirement… wait… that plan doesn’t make any sense. What was the plan again?
Barty splutters in disbelief.
Barty: Alex and Mike were gone before you even got into that habit of being kidnapped! Anyway, we are getting sidetracked…
Farthington: So Sektor’s there, right? Me and him can reveal the grand master secret plan, right?
Barty gives and sharp response and quickly continues to barrel through the explanation.
Barty: The point is, Victory is now the one true UTA…
Barty: Sorry, Victory is the one true Utah show. I got a call asking if you would like to be involved in the second ever Ace in the Hole match and I thought it might be something you would be interested in.
Cecilworth scruches up his face in a mixture of confusion, anger and defiance, or Cangfiance (™). Please contact your doctor if you have Cangfiance (™) lasting more than five hours.
Farthington: My dear uncle, why would you think I want to be Utah’s second Acehole? Are you sure Utah has only had one Acehole before now?
Barty hangs his head, almost in resignation.
Barty: Look, I thought you’d be interested because it would be another briefcase for your collection. Sorry, I guess it was a mistake, I’ll give them a call and let them…
Cecilworth holds up his hand in front of his uncle’s face, going “shush, shush, shush” many times over.
Farthington: Are you tell me, ME, that I could acquire a shiny new briefcase?
Barty almost looks terrified at the manic glee coming forth from Cecilworth’s eyes.
Barty: I mean yes… you would get a briefcase if you were to climb the ladder and…
A silence hangs in the air for a few moments before Cecilworth proclaims...
Farthington: I DON’T CARE ABOUT DETAILS BARTY! THERE’S A BRIEFCASE ON THE LINE! TO VICTORY WE RIDE!
"You bloody survive, you disgusting little trollop."
- Bronson Box