ACCEPTANCE
ReVival is continuing to rock and/or roll, depending on your current frame of mind. As has so often happened over the past few shows, we find ourselves just outside the concourse entrance to the MGM Grand Arena, at the makeshift Glue Factory stall that is totally legitimate and was approved by Melvin off camera, so take that coppers.
Instead of the long suffering intern of the Glue Factory, Gary, taking up the majority of the establishing shot, we are joined directly by The Humble Proprietor himself, Philip Martin Atken. He is flanked by the Glue Factory Chief of Security, the world famous Hank!
Atken positions himself directly in front of a pyramid of “Civil Dusk” brand crafting glue that sits upon the Glue Factory’s artisanal stall. A rather irritated Atken stares down the full hole of the camera as he begins to speak. For Hank’s part, he has what is either an intense scowl or a lot of abject confusion sitting upon his beautiful face.
Phil Atken: It’s my understanding that Dusk is rather desperate to have a match against me. So desperate, in fact, that he tried to intimate a powerless man who can’t even keep his office clean of unspeakable acts into giving him said match. There may have been a smoke machine involved.
Atken looks rather confused at the very true words escaping his own mouth hole but tries not to let it deter him from the point he’s trying to make.
Phil Atken: Dusk, old buddy, old pal, if you wanted a match with me, you could’ve just asked. You know where my stall is, after all. You found it pretty easily when you tried that sneak attack a few weeks back and sent our poor intern to the hospital. Personally, if I’m proclaiming victimhood, I’m probably not trying to beat the stuffing out of innocent parties but y’know, to each their own.
The thought of Dusk’s heinous and brutal assault causes Hank’s fists to curl up into two massive meaty chunks. I mean, I suppose they were already meaty chunks. Now it’s just more so.
Phil Atken: I am very happy to accept your request. Delighted. Over the moon. Cockahoop. I’d just like you to consider one thing though – your own health. See, as I recall, last time we spent some time in the ring together, it ended with days of migraines and litres of vomit for you. I’m sure you would hold the big man here responsible for that outcome, he is a rather intimidating presence. Perhaps you believe that if you neutralise him, you can “get your hands” on me. Remove my monster from the equation with that little pipe of yours…
Atken gently pants his chief of security on the shoulder as he chuckles to himself.
Phil Atken: I hate to correct someone running head first into a trap but did you stop for a single second to consider WHY Hank is very happy to do my bidding? Did you stop to ask yourself what kind of man could dictate control over a seven foot tall mute beast? I think you’ve had this silly little notion that I’m a weak man, a push over, hiding behind a giant. I encourage you, dear Dusk, to continue thinking that way. I encourage you to not review a single second of my first two matches in the company. I encourage you not to consider the fact I had control of The Anglo Luchador’s life in my hands. I encourage you to live in the simple, basic, black and white world that matches your Beetlejuice tights. I encourage you not to fear me.
Although the self-assured smug expression remains very much plastered on The Glue Factory’s salesman, the window to his soul paints a much more furious image.
Phil Atken: Keep playing at the old games, Dusk – at the end of Great American Nightmare, you’ll look back to what Hank did to you at Culture Shock with fond memories.
At this point, spit is basically flying out after every syllable from Atken, as Hank continues to mean mug the camera.
Phil Atken: I tried to give you an out, I tried to give you a dignified exit. I should have known that you were too god damn prideful to take it. Now? It’s the ditch for you.
Atken has a hearty laugh at his own final remark as the camera fades out.