DUSK vs. TAPIOCA PUDDINGS
♪ Ooooh whoo hoo hoo! ♪
The upbeat, synthesizer-driven tune of “Friends With P.” by the Rentals hits the speakers, signaling the entrance of the Puddings clan.
Nick Stuart: And here we go with our first match of the night, Richard! According to Twitter, it seems that Tapioca has spent most of this week buried up to his neck in mud as a punishment for saying some very unsavory things about his sister.
Richard Parker: I felt he was too easy on her, to be honest. This pale ball of pathetic really needs to position a piano over her head and drop it one day.
A smattering of cheers pulsate across the MGM Grand as the redhead emerges from behind the curtain, giving a polite wave and an unattractive grin. He reluctantly starts his march to the ring as the audience begins to grow louder for the emergence of Muriel. Wearing a size XXXL t-shirt with the bottom altered to look similar to a tennis skirt, the camera gets a close up to read the graphic displayed on it. It’s a Big Dogs “I LIVE AT THE CORNER OF BITE ME BLVD and NO FRICKIN WAY,” one of the vintage classics from the husky-oriented consumer.
Richard Parker: Oh, good. She brought her butter knife with her.
While always brandishing a weapon to make sure her brother doesn’t turn tail and run, it seems to be unnecessary this evening. After almost having his entire body atrophy in a makeshift grave, he’s actually happy to be here.
♪ If you’re friends with P., well then you’re friends with me. ♪
♪ If you’re down with P., well then you’re down with me. ♪
Vince Howard: This opening contest, is scheduled for one fall with a twenty-minute time limit! Accompanied by his sister Muriel and hailing from Chubbuck, Idaho, he weighs in at one-hundred and seventy pounds… TAPIOCA PUDDINGS!
The two eventually make their way to the ring, with Muriel taking her position over in the corner and giving Richard Parker the universal sign for cunnilingus.
‘Stronger’ by Kanye West rips through the MGM Grand Arena, much to Lindsay Troy’s chagrin.
So much for “new entrance music at Culture Shock,” CRAIG.
No matter. The PRIMEates start chanting anyway.
DUSK! DUSK! DUSK! DUSK!
From the backstage area emerges the man himself, Dusk. He stands at the top of the ramp as the fans cheer him on and chant his name. He has on a pair of white pants with black stripes on them with Dusk running down the outside of both legs. He wears a long black trench coat as well. He methodically makes his way down the ramp, slapping the hands of fans on his way to the ring, before he slides in under the bottom rope.
Vince Howard: His opponent…hailing from Los Angeles, California…weighing in at two-hundred twenty-five pounds…he is a former Intense Champion…DUSSSK!
The elder statesman of PRIME makes his way over to an unoccupied corner, makes his way up to the middle turnbuckle, and holds his arms out as the fans continue to chant his name. He hops off the middle turnbuckle and removes his trenchcoat before handing it over the top rope to a ringside attendant before slamming his forearms into his chest and making his way to his corner of the ring.
Referee Elvis Nixon calls for the bell.
DING DING
Nick Stuart: And here we go! The opening match of the first pay-per-view extravaganza of the new PRIME–
Richard Parker: Two goobers playing patty cake.
Nick Stuart: –Oh would you stop?
Richard Parker: Let’s call it what it is, Nick. The economy is rough right now, okay? Gas is seventeen dollars a gallon. Small children are having to work in mine shafts that could collapse at any time to be breadwinners for their families–
Nick Stuart: A great disparity in experience on display here. Dusk is as seasoned as they come.
Richard Parker: As are his artificial hips…
Nick Stuart: And Tapioca Puddings, well…
Richard Parker: Yeah, that’s right Nick. Spin this one. Go on. Tell me how excited you are to see Tapioca Puddings grapple at the morgue.
Nick Stuart: You never know what you may see in PRIME. Bigger upsets have happened.
While the commentary team is doing what they have done for so long, Dusk and Tapioca draw near to each other. The size disparity is evident. Dusk towers over poor Tapioca by over half a foot, and while the much older and greyer veteran might not be in his physical peak, his build still dwarfs that of his opponent. If anything, Dusk might pass for the sprier of the two, given how pale Tapioca is. The fans are cheering; after all, Dusk has his distinguished loveable quality, and then you have the sympathy element behind Puddings. And if there was any other reason, it would be Muriel Puddings, Crush Limbaugh herself, swinging around a t-shirt cannon and launching items into the crowd.
Perhaps the cheering is more noise as a result of this, as the Barbeque Bae isn’t launching licensed PRIME merchandise…but rather…bootlegged long johns emblazoned with the visages of an inebriated Garbage Bag Johnny.
Richard Parker: Oh, look at the lovebird…
It’s hard to tell if there is sincerity or disgust in Richard’s voice.
Dusk takes in the scene, looking side to side, smirking. Tapioca merely uses his forearm to wipe the snot away from his runny nose. Getting in position, the seasoned vet steps back, extending his hands, looking for a Greco-Roman knuckle lock, mouthing so that only his opponent can hear him ‘Show me what you got, kid’.
Nick Stuart: Dusk looking to test the elementary wrestling skills of his opponent here.
Richard Stuart: With someone who looks like they walked right out of one. Should get him on some offender lists outside of Florida.
Tapioca takes a few tepid steps forward, looking at his hands for a moment, giving an exaggerated gulp that is visible up in the nose bleeds. A fervent shaking of his head is quickly followed with Tapioca locking hands with the former Intense Champion. Dusk plants with his heels, ready to brace, but in doing so, Tapioca begins to wildly stumble backward, nearly losing his balance. As easy as it would be to bully the poor kid, a part of Dusk had no interest in doing so…instead wanting to do what people in his support structure should have done before throwing him to the wolves. Easing up, he merely tries to test his arm strength. Tapioca shakes like a twig as he musters every last bit of his strength to do something, anything, but after a few uncomfortable seconds, Dusk, with very little effort, is winning the exchange, Pudding’s arms completely to his waist, stamping across the ring as though he is walking on hot coals as he begins to whine.
Nick Stuart: Dusk utilizing his technical advantage in the early going here…
Richard Parker: He’s dancing like a maniac! And that whine! It’s like I’m listening to the dying cries of a bird…probably the one from those damn Liberty Mutual Insurance commercials
Muriel takes time out from her busy schedule of launching unwanted (save for those with certain discerning tastes) undergarments into the crowd (once the GBJ long johns ran out, she followed it up with sizeable granny style panties with Nova’s face centered in the front, as well as ‘Fighting for NORAD’ bibs that were sure to get a cease and desist from one Shweta Kallemullah) to start smacking the ring apron canvas, shouting at her brother to hurry up and get the win because she needed to ‘make sure her leg hairs were well groomed and stubbly before her big date’ later on in the evening. Tapioca shoots a look to her, absolutely mortified, because he knows what this means and it probably involves getting an eye full from the passenger seat of a Monster Truck. Nobody needs that in their life. He tries to fight, but after a moment of trying, he gives up, his whining growing all the worse.
Richard Parker: Oh geez he looks like he’s going to cry…
This is worse than Dusk could imagine. He lets go of the Greco-Roman knuckle lock, grabbing hold of a side headlock. There is no malice in his movements, no sudden snap, just a slight pressure. For Tapioca, it may as well be a beartrap. His feet once again stamp about the mat, his arms flailing wildly. Dusk, sighing to himself, transitions to a hammerlock, the initial movement almost lifting poor Tapioca off his feet.
Nick Stuart: You can tell Dusk isn’t trying to hurt him, but if Tapioca doesn’t start getting the idea that he’s in a wrestling match, he may as well just lay down.
Richard Parker: Dusk should have already pulverized him. You see how loose these holds are?
Nick Stuart: Tapioca has been pushed around most of his life, by all accounts. What does bullying him in the ring prove to anyone?
Richard Parker: The ring isn’t a place for the meek and mild!
With a slight wrench upward of the hammerlock, Dusk’s strength is all the more apparent. ‘You got to give some fight, kid,’ the former Intense Champion coaches, but rather than get a burst of wrestling displayed, Tapioca charges forward and grabs hold of the ropes with his free hand, then wrapping his arm over it, and then using his legs to do the same. Anything to get away. Referee Elvis Nixon begins to count for the rope break, but Dusk lets go instantly. Puddings, without the weight to brace against, falls to the canvas with a crash. He scrambles to his feet, his back against the ropes, his hands going for his hair. He wants to be anywhere but here. Dusk snatches him in a collar and elbow tie up, pulling him from the side of the ring to the center, now insistent in dragging something out of the much younger wrestler.
Muriel Puddings: …And I’m gonna be McLovin it as he gets me that secret sauce…
This statement cuts through Tapioca’s world like a knife. The leverage, the pressure, the size, all Tapioca can do is cry for help as there is nothing he can do. The world is closing in on him. What did he do to deserve this? Where was Ernest to save the day? And just like that, Tapioca Puddings caught Dusk in a magnificent armdrag takeover, shocking in how crisp it is, so much so that Dusk, on the rebound, stumbles back onto his butt. His eyes are wide. And after a moment, he begins to clap. And smile. The fans loudly cheer. Tapioca, huffing and puffing, looks at the crowd in shock. What just happened? Muriel isn’t paying attention, she’s too busy sauntering around the ring, flaunting her Big Dog dress to realize that, for a brief moment, her brother showed he belonged in the ring.
Nick Stuart: Oh what an armdrag by Tapioca there! And Dusk is smiling! He’s getting to his feet and smiling!
Richard Parker: Wait wait wait…woah…
Dusk makes his way back over to Tapioca, who is looking at his hands like they’re made of magic. Another collar and elbow tie up happens, and this time, as if fueled by the power of some wrestling deity, Tapioca fires off another arm drag. Muriel misses this one too. The former Intense Champion picks himself up, smile on his face, but this time, when he goes in for the collar and elbow tie up, he switches it up, and before falling for another quick armdrag from the shockingly competent Tapioca, locks his own hips, and tosses him with a hip toss. The velocity launches Tapioca across the ring, causing him to scurry to the outside, where he bumps into his own sauntering sister, who completely bowls him over as if he isn’t even there.
Nick Stuart: We might have a wrestling match breaking out here!
Richard Parker: Or something oozing from a trailer park.
Crush Limbaugh herself can’t help but look at her own brother and hiss, looking down at her Big Dogs dress to make sure there aren’t any more stains on it because thirty eight would be just too much for the Doré Debutant. She scoops him up and rolls him back into the ring, where Dusk gives him enough space to get back up. That said, once he does, he strikes forward, grabbing onto Tapioca and slamming him to the canvas with a quick spinebuster, and the cover.
ONE
TWO
FOOT ON THE ROPES
But that one is a result of Muriel perching her brother’s foot on the bottom rope. Fun as it is, he still has a match to win, and Tapoica had shown him enough so he wouldn’t feel bad in increasing the intensity. He grabs hold of Tapioca and raises him to his feet, only to get a forearm to his breadbasket as a result. The blow briefly takes the wind from the former Intense Champion’s sails, but there is no follow up, and as he stands fully upright, Tapioca is standing there, hands up, ‘I’m so sorry Mr. Dusk, I didn’t mean to, it’s just that…’
‘Don’t sweat it,’ Dusk responds before hitting Tapioca with a kitchen sink side knee. The wind leaves the other man’s sails. A quick russian legsweep follows, but before going for another pin, Dusk gets hold of a waistlock from behind, nailing a german suplex.
ONE
TWO
KICKOUT
This one happens without the interference of Muriel, who Elvis is glowering down as she tries to do…something…probably illegal with the t-shirt cannon.
Nick Stuart: This is what we expect from an opening match. And we are seeing a story play out here…David vs. Goliath…
Richard Parker: Oh come on–
Nick Stuart: As this match progresses, we’re seeing more from Tapioca, but also, Dusk is firing on all cylinders. He’s made the comment how he wants to win the 5 Star Championship soon, and to do so, he’s going to have to be as impressive as he’s starting to show here.
Muriel is done messing around with the t-shirt cannon, and instead is staggering about the ring, taking a swig from a flask that she had retrieved from her own Nova panties (the horror). Tapioca cries out as he reaches for his neck, reaching for the ropes to get back to his feet, and once he does, Dusk grabs hold of him, looking to get another german suplex. In complete wild panic, Tapioca bites at Dusk’s bicep, doing whatever it takes to get free.
Richard Parker: That boy is rabid!
Nick Stuart: Elvis Nixon admonishing–
Richard Parker: That boy got Idaho Nathan Rabies!
Dusk lets go, shaking his arm, shocked at what has just happened. Tapioca tries begging off, tries profusely apologizing, knowing he’s crossed the line. The forearm smash from Dusk is quick, as is another, and another. This isn’t bullying. In fact, this is how it needs to happen. In a flash, he strikes.
Nick Stuart: Oh what a Superkick by Dusk!
Richard Parker: That kid went sailing out of his boots.
Nick Stuart: And out of the ring!
The excitable Nick Stuart isn’t wrong; Tapioca Puddings was crushed with a brutal Superkick, but what saves him is how the momentum of the fall to the mat causes his frame to fall to the outside from underneath the bottom rope. Muriel isn’t there to ‘help’ this time, instead seeming to have gotten money from someone in the front row to do armpit farts. She’s laughing. She’s having the time of her life. Her brother? Trying desperately to pick up his shattered jaw.
Nick Stuart: Dusk following to the outside, and Muriel is getting close…
Richard Parker: Is she going to hit him with a slipper?
In fact, she is, until he turns around, and in so doing, causes the former Chubbuck Spud Princess beauty Pageant winner to yelp and have her object fly into the crowd. She’s far more pissed at the idea of not getting at least a few Lincolns before parting with it. The momentary distraction IS enough for Tapioca to regain some of his grey matter, launching onto Dusk’s shoulders with a sloppy leg scissors, but he can’t bring the former Intense Champion over with the move, and instead, Dusk powerbombs the poor kid onto the mats in defense. The camera quickly shoots to a part of the arena where some people with Baby Dusk dolls with their hair spray painted grey having a grand ole time.
Tapioca arches his back off the outside mats and begins screaming, pounding his feet, mewling. ‘Sorry,’ Dusk mouths, grabbing hold of him, rolling him back into the ring, only for Tapioca to just keep rolling and rolling until he nearly spills out of the other side. Grabbing the ropes to pulling himself up in a way that can only be described as utterly drunk, Tapioca is quickly back on the defensive, having to throw an overhand chop with very little in the direction of Dusk. Another. And another. The blows have something on them, but not enough to bring Dusk to a full stop. He rushes in, grabbing hold, and swings Tapioca overhead with a Northern Lights Suplex.
ONE
TWO
Nick Stuart: Muriel putting her brother’s foot back on the ropes!
Richard Parker: Maybe she wants him to die in there. Cold. But fair.
Staggering away from Dusk, Tapioca stumbles, falls back down, only to try again, stumbling, falling to his knee, then his back. At this point, this is a mercy killing. Dusk loads up on the other side of the ring, ready to hit another Super Kick. He has Tapioca in his sights, ready to do what has to be done. Poor kid. Didn’t stand a chance. Tapioca is hanging on by a thread as he staggers back to his feet.
And then…
Nick Stuart: Muriel!
Richard Parker: Oh God no!
The Armpit Farting Maven is on the ring apron. Even more concerning? She’s gotten hold of Elvis Nixon and turned him off course with an open mouth lip lock. As Elvis Nixon flails to free himself from the horrors that are currently happening within his mouth hole and considering what rule violations he can disqualify Tapioca for, inside the ring, Dusk crumbles straight to the mat as if a train just drove straight through him. A jelly-legged Tapioca eyes light up in terror as he sees a seven foot monster of a man hoist Dusk up and drill his skull almost through the entire damn ring with a Choke Bomb.
Nick Stuart: What was that! WHO WAS THAT?
The tall brute looks over to the stunned Tapioca and instead of assuming he’ll get the message, he body slams the poor child onto top of the PRIME veteran and slides out of the ring. Muriel quickly frees Elvis Nixon from his prison and as he turns around to very much disqualify Tapioca Puddings, he is completely stunned by the fact Tapioca is making a cover and forgets everything that just happened, dropping down for the count.
Richard Parker: Elvis Nixon’s going to be billing Lindsay Troy for therapy sessions for eternity after this one.
Nick Stuart: That’s your observation on what just happened? Nixon is counting! Nixon is counting!
ONE
TWO
THREE!
DING DING DING
Nick Stuart: Oh you have to be kidding me!
Vince Howard: Your winner…by pinfall…TAPIOCA! PUUUUUUDDINGS!
Instead of giving her sibling an opportunity to experience any enjoyment in his life, Muriel grabs Tapioca and drags him out of the ring, heading with urgency to fire off much more devious merchandise wherever she chooses to roam in the MGM Grand.
Meanwhile in the ring, Dusk is starting to come to and from his facial expression and is entirely uncertain about the events that have just unfurled. As the PRIME veteran tries to get his bearings, he is kicked full force directly in the gut by a rather pointy and shiny black wing tipped shoe. He gasps for air but can’t quite fill his lungs before another gut kick hits him full force. Elvis Nixon isn’t aware of the in ring action to call for support, still trying to purge his mouth from the crimes that have been performed there.
Nick Stuart: This is ridiculous, first Dusk has to go through the humiliation of having a recorded loss to Tapioca Puddings in the ring and now this…
Richard Parker: Dusk only has himself to blame, he wanted to play the good guy when he could’ve ended this match in seconds. He allowed this to get dragged out long enough for a seven foot man to murder his soul.
The Baby Dusk Doll legion are making many angry mouth noises towards the ring as the camera pans up to see a man neatly attired in a burgundy three piece suit continue to kick the shit out of Dusk, looking entirely disgusted through the process. The shoe assault comes to a halt as the seven foot figure hands off a microphone to the besuited gentleman. He takes a few steps away from the former Intense Champion as turns towards the furious crowd, a gentle smirk on his face.
Besuited Gentleman: None of you know who I am, do you? That’s okay, none of the boys in the back would remember me either and there’s quite a few of them who just LOVED to make a mockery of me back in the day.
As Dusk’s assaulter comes into action, we see an older looking man, still quite muscular for his age but certainly suffering from a degree of senior sag. A tuft of what was once golden hair, now a mixture of grays and whites, is swooshed atop his hairline. To his side, the 7 footer, dressed in a no-nonsense black turtleneck and matching slacks, his bald head blinding some of the fans who bought tickets in the seventh row.
Besuited Gentleman: My name is Philip Martin Atken, the humble proprietor of PRIME Wrestling’s newest business partner, The Glue Factory. The man to my side is my LOYAL Chief of Security, a man who will only accept being referred to as Hank. I don’t know the back story, and quite frankly, I don’t care.
Dusk starts showing signs of movement, crawling towards the man now identified as Phil Atken. Atken drops the microphone for a few seconds, his salesman smile quickly dropping into a snarl as he drills another kick right into Dusk, this time aiming to break a few ribs given the force and aim.
Phil Atken: Ten years ago, I stepped away from the wrestling industry with a record that was… muddy… to say the least. I found new avenues, new interests, new skills. I lived a happy life. Not a rockstar life, not the life of a wrestling legend, but I was comfortable. I’d made my peace in life, I’d found my bliss. Yet, this company… PRIME… it could’ve come back swinging. A nirvana for the young and hungry looking to get their foot in the door of the industry that I love. Instead, a parade of the same kinds of people, and in some cases, the EXACT people, who ruined my passion for this business… they decided they were going to mock, mitigate and hold down the new generation of talent. One last ride for the glory whores. It’s disgusting. They disgust me. So, I decided that perhaps I needed to build up a partnership with PRIME and the MGM Grand…
Dusk manages to crawl over to Atken and begins clawing away at his legs, clearly indicating he still has fight in him. Atken doesn’t even bother dropping the microphone this time, instead just nodding to his Chief of Security, who hoists Dusk up for a second Choke Bomb.
Phil Atken: Sorry about that, some of our raw materials are rather difficult to mold…
The salesman’s smile quickly returns to Atken as Dusk shows zero signs of life.
Phil Atken: The Glue Factory is proud to announce our first collaboration with PRIME. For those of you looking for that perfect sticky substance to support your crafts just after sunset… we are DELIGHTED to bring you… Civil Dusk. A perfect blend of yellow and blue. We’ll have it in the merchandise stalls real soon.
The boos in the crowd are still very pleasant, but perhaps more dampened than the original fury, likely out of confusion of what the MGM Grand PRIME gang just witnessed. Phil Atken flips the microphone to the ground, his Chief of Security opening the ring ropes for him. The camera pans back to the knocked out Dusk one more time before it cuts to the legendary announce team of Nick Stuart and Richard Parker.
Nick Stuart: For weeks now, we’ve been told the Glue Factory is coming to PRIME and now we discover…
Richard Parker: I have no idea what we just discovered and I saw it all. I was here. I saw everything that just happened with my own eyes. What the hell is going on?
The camera fades out of the scene as the crowd try to cheer Dusk on in getting back to his feet after the assault from Phil Atken and his Chief of Security.