"What the hell is a Drake?"

Trent: A male duck.

"A male duck wrestler? What did you sign me up for, ####ing CHIKARA?"

Trent: A creature similar to a dragon in Teutonic mythology...

"That can't be it... Sounds like some 'Game of Thrones' s##t"

Trent: Canadian hip-hop artist.

"I doubt EBWF could afford him"

Trent: Drake Mallard.

"Darkwing Duck? What a TV show! Get serious Greg."

Trent: Nathan Drake.

"UGH. It was taking you long to come up with a videogame reference"

Trent: A member of the Hoenn Elite Four.

"I'm going to hang up okay?"

Trent: Oh! Oh!Drake from Drake and Josh!

--Click.--


Japan is cool. McGriddles are the s##t, and there's no better place to eat than Ribera Steakhouse... However it felt good to be back.
There was lots of things to prove after graduating as a Junior Heavyweight in the land of the rising sun. Bolstering enough confidence to pump up his 180lbs of weight, Trent signed on the dotted line for an EBWF contract for... Well, he had lost count already.
However, this time around he didn't come on his own. The 3x EBWF Tag team Champion, 4x IWGP Jr. Heavyweight tag champion brought someone along for the ride.

A tape being rewinded could be heard in the background as the camera panned around what looked like a locker room. A couple of Gym bags and towels rested on a table, our heroes sitting on a black couch side by side, Kentucky's very own Chuck Taylor held a remote controller in his hand, the camera did a 360° pan to focus on the screen.

Chuck Taylor: I'm telling you man, something weird is going on here.

Trent: What do you mean, the fact we're not looking at this TV from an awkward angle?

Chuck Taylor: No, not that... What are you even on about, do you want a Cease and Desist order?

Trent shook his head.

Chuck Taylor: LOOK!

Chuck paused the Television which was displaying Trent's next opponent: Eli Drake.

Trent: So that's a Drake. Looks like no match for me.

Chuck Taylor: I know he's no match for you... That's not what I wanted you to look.

On the screen, footage from Eli Drake and his old assistant Greg was shown.

Chuck Taylor: He called him Greg! He called him Greg!

Trent: So?

Chuck Taylor: Who else do you know that is called Greg?

Trent remained thoughtful for a moment.

Chuck Taylor: Noone! I know no other Gregs in the whole wide world. I'm telling you, he's made you his little bitch! And you can't remember s##t!

Trent looked at Chuck with a disgusted look upon his face.

Trent: That guy doesn't even look like me.

Chuck Taylor: He doesn't have to look like you! Haven't you seen Face-off?

Trent: Well that guy looks like someone put an ass on his face, if you ask me.

Trent pointed at the ugly Greg on the screen.

Chuck Taylor: Then what if the guy is your siamese twin? You know... Like Bart Simpson's?

Trent scoffed.

Trent: I'd be fine, I'd actually be the evil twin if that were the case. Remind me to ask my mom at Thanksgiving?

Chuck Taylor: Can I come?

Trent: Fuck no.

Chuck Taylor: You really are the evil twin. Okay, hear me out... What if he's your clone, or Greg from another parallel dimension?

Trent: What if... No! Have you been binge watching Stranger things?

Chuck Taylor: Please tell me there is not something weird about this place!

Trent: Like what?

Chuck Taylor: Like the fact the owner looks like that dude from Creed.

Trent: What? You must be blind.

Chuck Taylor: Or the fact we were working here before, but we don't remember why we stopped working, and now we're working here again... With no explanation whatsoever, no backlash, nothing!

Trent looked completely puzzled. Some of the things Big Dust has said made some sense, but... They all escaped Heavyweight Trenton's comprehension.

Trent: I feel we've moved away from our original point. Dustin, let me ask you something. Will any of what you just said change the fact that come Fanniversary I am going to break Eli Drake's neck with a piledriver?

Chuck Taylor: No.

Trent: Then I don't know why we are watching this stupid footage and talking about it.

Chuck Taylor: I just figured the fact him making someone called Greg his little bitch, badmouthing him and pinning all the blame on him for his misery despite the fact he's being mocked, humiliated and mopped the floor with would persu--

Trent: HE DID WHAT?!?!??!

He had stood up on the couch and was flexing his torso while looking straight at Dustin.

Trent: No one, and I mean no one badmouths a Greg, not on my watch at least! Eli Drake... Say goodbye to your neck! And say goodbye to your dick, because I am F###ing kicking it!!!

Chuck Taylor: Yeah! Kiss it good bye.

Trent looked down at Chuck.

Chuck Taylor: Okay ,that sounded wrong. I'll turn off the TV

Trent looked down at him

Trent: What TV?

The camera panned out revealing there was indeed no Television where there used to be one. There was a knock on the door. Chuck Taylor flipped, a completely crazed out facial expression on him as he swung the door open... In front of him a spectral looking slender figure seemed to gleam. Chuck yelped out and dropkicked the ghost onto the nearest wall... (un)Surprisingly, the ghost didn't go through the wall, collided against it and hit the floor with a loud thud. The immaculate white sheet soon turned ruby red. Trent had walked behind Chuck to see what had just happened.

Trent: What the hell did you do?

Chuck Taylor: I killed a ghost?"

Trent knelt before the blanket, examining whoever was under the sheet.

Chuck Taylor: That's totally ectoplasm... Or... Am I fired?

Trent shrugged as the scene faded to black, with Chuck hoping the man he had just dropkicked onto a wall was Eli Drake disguised as a ghost.

"Jericho wasn't fired when he hit an old lady with the codebreaker... I think you're fine"