Crunchy City, BITCH

[Juan Ramirez]

If you don’t have someone to call your best friend in life, then I feel sorry for you. It was at times like these when friends where needed the most and young Trenton seemed to be surrounded by them. His two canadian mentors, his family, and his best friend forever, Chuck Taylor. Buttons could be heard mashing in the background with occasional grunting and foot stomping, the 16 bit music blasted from a TV as our Gaming Ace sat comfortably on a couch, wearing his wrestling gear and a backwards cap, sitting next to him was a young lad better known as the Kentucky Gentleman, Chuck Taylor, he was wearing Jeans, T-shirt and black Chuck Taylors, how fitting!

Chuck Taylor: This is crazy…

Trent: What? The graphics? Old School...

Chuck Taylor: No, the fact you’re facing that musclebound dude in King of the Ring… I mean, if you beat him why don’t they give you the belt already? I bet he uses more syringes than… Well, someone who uses a lot of Heroin.

Trent: First, you don’t get a belt for winning the King of the Ring tournament…

Chuck Taylor: Lame. What do you get, then?

Trent: A Scepter, a crown, a fancy cape and a throne for your opponent to take a dump on when you have a rivalry.

Chuckie smacked his friend on the chest audibly.

Trent: Woah, was that for punching a hole through the fourth wall?

Chuck Taylor: That was for stealing my lives! Anyway, what are your plans against Bork Laser?

Trent: You mean Brock Lesnar.

Chuck Taylor: Wait, his name is not Bork Laser?

Trent sighed.

Trent: No Dustin, he is not called Bork Laser, that was something the internet started.

Chuck Taylor: Well, it might be too late for you to bulk up to his level, plus I don’t think it would be healthy for your kidneys… So, what’s your plan?

Trent: Do I look like I need a plan?

Chuck Taylor: Not usually, but that guy is a Behemoth.

Trent: The only one who needs a plan is Brock, because after I’m done with him he will be needing a dental plan.

Chuck Taylor: That’s the spirit! Eat Butterflies to Crap Bees!

Trent: Chuck…

Chuck Taylor: Although that sounds pretty Painful… Say, are you going to be King Trenton then? Speaking fancy words? Bougie King Trenton?

Trent: SILENCE YOU COMMONER! THOU SHALT DOU MY BIDDING AS I… Nah, I’m going to be a different kind of King… What are you talking about, I am already a king!

Chuck Taylor: Oh! Oh! Now say it in a Duke Nukem Voice!

The door crashed open as the two excited males turned to the entrance. What appeared to be a dark shadow entering through the light from outside turned out to be a rather angry looking figure.

Lance Storm: TRENT, I ASKED YOU TO BRING ME MY EVERY FLAVOUR BEANS 16 HOURS AGO. OH, WHAT A SURPRISE, YOU’RE PLAYING YOUR PLAYTENDO.

Chuck Taylor jumped from his seat and pointed a finger at the ideal canadian.

Chuck Taylor: Oh look! It’s La…

Lance had thrown a medium sized red ball at Chuck.

Lance Storm: EAT BLUDGER.

He walked towards Chucky T, and sized him up. Looking into Chuck’s hair, he turned his head towards Trent.

Lance Storm: Who on Earth is this?

Trent: That’s Chuck! He’s my best friend, forever.

Lance Storm: No he is not.

He turned back to Chuck.

Lance Storm: You are not.

Chuck Taylor: Then who is, old guy?

Lance’s usually expressionless eyes widened in fury. He pulled out his iPhone 6+ and held it in Chuck’s face.

Lance Storm: WOULD AN OLD GUY HAVE THIS?

He turned on the spot and gave Chuck a quick kick to the shins, knocking him back into his seat. Chuck cried out like a girl.

Lance Storm: OR BE AWESOME ENOUGH TO DO THAT?

He took his place in front of the TV, standing with his arms folded, staring at the two.

Lance Storm: Chuck who? ...Norris?

He picked Trent up out of his seat and lifted him up by the scruff of his neck.

Lance Storm: Are you being flippant about Chuck Norris again? You kids these days are ANIMALS.

He shoved Trent back down.

Lance Storm: State your name, former best friend forever of Trent.

Chuck stuttered out, intimidated by the presence of Lance

Chuck Taylor: I told you, my name is Chuck Taylor!

Lance squinted at him, inquisitively.

Lance Storm: And why are you playing computer games with your SUPPOSED best friend when he should be preparing for a match with an actual moose/dinosaur hybrid?

Chuck Taylor: He was telling me how he was going to take Bork Laser to school!

Lance Storm: He was going to take a what to school?

Chuck Taylor: The name of his opponent! Bork Laser!

Trent shook his head.

Trent: Brock Lesnar.

Chuck Taylor: That’s it! Brock Lameass.

Trent looked at Lance and shook his head once again.

Lance Storm: Look, you’re embarrassing MY best friend!

Chuck Taylor: Who’s your best friend?

“I STAY OUT TOO LATE”

Lance Storm: Oh not again.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket. After careful inspection he pressed something on the screen.

Lance Storm: Hello? Oh, hi Chris. What? No, I don’t think I’m doing anything wrong… Something I said? HOW CAN YOU TELL?

Lance threw the phone to Trent, who caught it.

Lance Storm: MAKE IT STOP.

Trent ended the call and passed the phone back to Lance.

Lance Storm: My best friend is Chris Jericho and Trent.

Chuck Taylor: I thought Trent and I were best friends… Forever!

Lance shot an evil look towards Trent, a look so evil you could swear he kept parts of his soul hidden around the country.

Chuck Taylor: We even have T-shirts, matching T-shirts! And we play Goof Troop, and Sims and all kinds of games!

Lance started tapping his foot, in what would be perceived as impatience in a regular human being. Chuck stood up, excitedly.

Chuck Taylor:I am even going to walk down to the ring with him and cheer him on against Bork before he fires his laser at Trent!

Lance’s eyes appeared to flash red. In one super-speed motion, he superkicked Chucky, who flopped back into the couch, apparently taken out. Lance turned coolly back and faced Trent.

Lance Storm: WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT THESE SO-CALLED FRIENDS LEADING YOU ASTRAY, TRENT? ONLY ME AND CHRISTOPHER KNOW WHAT’S BEST FOR YOU.

Trent: You told me about the Young Bucks, but Chuckie has never been backstage…

Trent glanced over at Chuck.

Trent: Woah, you knocked him out cold!

Lance Storm: WOULD AN OLD GUY BE ABLE TO DO THAT?

Trent: I doubt he can hear you…

Lance Storm: I’M TALKING TO YOU! You better not think I’m not cool enough to hang around with anymore, Trent! You better not think I’m just SOME OLD GUY just because the apparent COOL KIDS like this Chris Tucker say I am! You sit here, playing your…

Lance waved his hand at the television screen.

Lance Storm: ...marijuanas, wearing blue jeans and talking about Billy Idol and all of that rebellious nonsense. At the end of the day, BEST FRIEND, you have work to do!

Trent: Brock Lesnar, King of the ring. I got this.

Lance stormed towards the exit.

Lance Storm: I WANT MY EVERY FLAVOUR BEANS.

Trent: I’ll take him to Crunchy city, BITCH!

Lance turned back and went to superkick Trent, who dodged the kick like Neo from the Matrix.

Lance Storm: Ah, I have taught you well. Come along, young Trenton. I see your focus hasn’t completely gone astray.

Both men left the locker room as the scene faded to black.

Chuck Taylor: Arrrghhhh, my tooth!

The scene opened up in a dark room… Camera set on a couple of black wrestling boots, the camera panned up to show black wrestling tights, spattered with neon pink and lemon details all over, a black leather jacket with the word “TRENT” printed in shiny blue, a neon pink bandana over his forehead, the soon to be King of the Ring, Trent sat comfortably on a chair. The chair seemed worn out, patches of red velvet seemed to be covered in dirt. Trent smiled.

Trent: Much like me, this old throne has seen better days. This is actually the throne that was meant to be for me a couple of years ago, when I reached the finals… But I am not here to cry over spilled milk. I have decided King of the Ring will be the turning point of my career… The moment I come from “Gee that guy is mildly talented, I wonder why he is rarely with the top dogs” to “How in the world could we conceive the wrestling industry without this guy?”. How do I intend to do that? Simple, by defeating Brock Lesnar.

Trent paused for a moment, his fingers rubbed along his chin, which had stubble from a couple of days of no shaving.

Trent: But Trent, how do you intend to do that? Hey, if a guy past his prime could kick Brock Lesnar’s ass while wearing freakin’ jeans I might as well have a shot! It’s nature… Last week Brock Lesnar proved the world he is destined to extinction. Tonight he faces one of the hottest prospects this place has to offer… And let me tell you, things don’t look any brighter for Brock this week.

Trent tilted his head to the side, as if he wanted to remember something.

Trent: Oh! And this is for the King of the Ring tournament! Who would even consider someone like Brock Lesnar fit to be a King? Maybe he saw Jerry Lawler and thought he could pull it off… All Brock cares about is money and hurting people… I’m afraid he won’t be getting that extra PPV check this month, and I’m guessing he won’t be hurting nobody in his match. I truly doubt that imbecile is able to get out of bed in the morning and get to the airport without the help of his gold-digger wife… Well Brock better tell his wife to cut off the botox this month, because once I beat him his check is going to be significantly smaller…

Trent’s eyebrows furrowed suddenly.

Trent: Who talked that beefhead into being King anyway? Wait, wait… Say no more… His other fat, bald, gold-digger wife, right? Paul Heyman… The man who vows for Brock Lesnar… Now, it is no mystery Brock Lesnar isn’t a rocket scientist, but damn! If he lets Paul Heyman do the talking for him, one can only imagine how smart Brock Lesnar really is.

Trent ran a hand along his super sick sideburns.

Trent: Now, I am no stranger to Paul Heyman’s antics… His words crawling through your ears into that hollow craneum… I don’t blame you Brock, whenever he says “Jump” you don’t even ask “how high”?, you just do what you say… Maybe because your only two good neurons work for grappling, or because you are just one greedy bastard who cares about money…

Trent shook his head in disappointment

Trent: I couldn’t care less about money… I couldn’t care about fame, fortune, I don’t have a nagging wife spending like crazy and mouths to feed at home. I can’t stretch this enough… But throughout history, Kings have reflected respect, intelligence, dexterity… You have none of those Brock. You let some greedy loser do the talking for your… You chose to side with John Cena… You can ask him how intense can a match against Trent be, specially in king of the ring.

Trent chuckled, placing one of his hands over his left ear.

Trent: Whaddayasay? You’re a different person? You’re a bad man? Duh, you’re a bad Wrestler too. There’d be a time and a place to speak about John Cena… But the fact of the matter is, Brock Lesnar is badly surrounded… He was wounded by a smaller, older, weaker dude last week… So far I see nothing you can threaten me with… Specially when I am faster and deadlier than Wes Ikeda… Do you think having someone hit the coast to coast is bad? I am planning to drive your ugly face straight into the mat and there is nothing you or your two trashtalking buddies can do about it… It can’t be that hard, Brock… It’ll be the same as at Death before Dishonor, someone making you his bitch… Only this time it will be a more talented, younger, more charismatic wrestler. If you look at it that way… It’d be like passing the torch, only instead of passing it, you’ll get burnt alive with it, and a new king will stand tall over your exogenous testosterone reeking ashes.