The Definition of Insanity

insanity

n. mental illness of such a severe nature that a person cannot distinguish fantasy from reality, cannot conduct her/his affairs due to psychosis, or is subject to uncontrollable impulsive behavior. Insanity is distinguished from low intelligence or mental deficiency due to age or injury.
- dictionary.law.com

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Drew Stevenson doesn't expect it! He turns around, and all of a sudden;

WHAM! inside of a multicolored starburst, it's a TOE TAGGER!

Drew Stevenson is out cold. Cocheese goes for the cover.

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3!

Wham, bam, thank you, ma'am! Cocheese came through like blam!, and made the fans shut their mouths like a clam. Well... damn! Drew was a 30+ champion (who's really counting?) and a 6 time hall of famer. Now, he's out on his back underneath a Cocheese who is forming the letters of his home town in the air as the camera fades to commercial on that match.

Drew Stevenson, wow. Cocheese had history with him, as well as Washington. As much as Cocheese didn't care for his partners, they, for the most part, got the job done. If you ask Cocheese, however, he'll tell you a different story. And tell you a different story, he shall, backstage, as the camera fixes on a sweaty Cocheese who is still in his ring gear (which is practically his street gear anyway.) A white towel is around the back of his neck and a bottle of water is in his right hand. Behind him, RWD crew members scramble to get everything out of the arena to move onto the next show. There's a stack of pipes and crates directly behind him.

Cocheese takes a sip of his water and shakes his head soon after. "I got what I expected when it came to my useless teammates, but I expected more out of my... former?... Joker's Wild mates, but they didn't really give me much, and now I hear that I'm the one that sent Drew Stevenson packing." He shakes his head ruefully. "It's a shame, but you know what? It's a sign. It's just what I said. Frank Washington was too hungry, and Drew Stevenson wasn't hungry enough. It's a sign that I WILL get what is mine, and that's the RWD title. See..."

His free hand rubs his mouth and his chin. He then suckles on his lips audibly before raising a forefinger into the air. "Drew finally got what was coming to him. He was getting punished here, and now he received the ultimate punishment in the form of a Toe Tagger. I'mma be up front, I didn't want to have to do that, but you gotta make sacrifices. You gotta make sacrifices. I sacrificed you!" He points that finger at the camera now. "And he sacrificed his career! Because he went packing soon after that. It's a shame, but that's how life goes. But that's the past. We got to keep it moving." He nods his head a few times. "Ooh yes. You keep dwelling on the past, you keep doing the same shit over and over expecting different results, that's the definition of insanity, right? But speaking of insanity... Heh..." He smirks, slowly shaking his head and turning to walk towards one of the crates, setting his water bottle on it.

"After the match I went to the back..." He turns to face the camera now while continuing. "And I looked on that piece of paper tacked onto the corkboard. That paper. Right. over. there." He points with his right hand and the camera follows, showing a corkboard with a bunch of papers tacked to it on the far side of the backstage area. The camera swings back to Frankie. "And I saw something that just... Oh God..." He dips his head back, eyes rolling back and his voice sounds like he's in the middle of an orgasm. "Ooooh my GOD I saw something that practically made my dick rock hard!"

He turns for a moment to snatch the cold bottle of aqua up, bringing it up to his lips and taking a sip, denying the public watching this video the revelation of what he saw, keeping them in suspense. He dumps the rest of the water over his face and head, making his lips go 'pfffttt' and blowing droplets of water out in front of him. No, not like Triple H. More like some drooling dog trying to blow a raspberry. He does a chop towards his groin with his left hand. "My cock." He crushes the water bottle in his right hand while exclaiming, "My COCK! It has been practically BEADING at the TIP when I came here, and now it's finally coming true. No homo. But I saw Maxwell Schneider's name in a versus next to mine. And oh my God, I tell you, what would've put the icing on the cake of that moment would've been a blowjob from Lucy Wylde."

He nods knowingly. The fans know it. Whether they love him or they hate him, most of the fans are straight, red blooded American males who probably dream about her and agree with him on that point. She was almost on top in MSW, and tragically, is going in the opposite direction in RWD. But who cares? She's pretty. Truthfully, the Women's division could fight or fuck and he'd care less. As long as there's still tits and ass to look at. Those horny red blooded American fans would agree with him on that, as well.

Get to the point, Frankie.

"If there's anybody I wanted to crush more in the RWD, since day one, it's this man. See, Drew Stevenson is the past, was the past. He's been dealt with but on the flip side, there's been Maxwell, doing his own thing, thinking that I haven't been keeping an eye on him but I have. He's been on a fast track to the title belt."

He tosses the crushed water bottle to the ground with force. It makes a dull clanging sound on the floor below. Frankie repeatedly jabs his right forefinger into his chest in that typical Frankie/Italian Male/Overly Dramatic Guy Trying To Stress A Point manner. "... But he'll stop dead in his tracks when it comes to ME!" His hand falls idly to his side. "But no, not only have I been waiting to bust, have I been waiting to promo on this greasy prick, but I see that he's not only been waiting on this match too but apparently he couldn't wait any longer and blew his load first." He shrugs his shoulders as if it's no bother to him. Cocheese doesn't care who acts first, because at the end of the day, it'll be who acts last with a Toe Tagger followed by the three count.

"And that's fine. That's perfectly fine. It's always me coming out with the knockout blow first, or me fighting defensively." He gets in a defensive boxing pose, starting to bob and weave as he's talking. "Dodging all the punches like Floyd Mayweather Jr. before BOOM!" He springs up and sends a straight right towards the camera but pulls it back inches before it could connect with the lens, snapping his hand back and up above his head for a moment. "I respond with the punch that sends them reeling and ends up being the knockout blow. You REALLY want to go toe to toe with me, MAX?! Physically or verbally?!" His lips form a wide grin. "Maybe you really are more insane than I give you credit for." He pauses, looking up for a moment as if to contemplate that. He shakes his head. "... Naaah... You're just stupid. An idiot. A moron. A fool. A FOOL! Just like the last two!" He growls angrily. How could somebody be so foolish to think they could just step into the ring with Frankie and it would be all good? How DARE they think they're going to get the best of him?!

His face reddens. "You want me to rap for you, and add my last Will and Testament into it, when the only thing I'm going to wrap you in is butcher paper." He holds up his hands as if he's gripping Max's head in his own hands. "I'm going to... butcher you... I'm going to butcher you like you butcher your words in your promos. Nobody can understand you half the time! And that's a lot coming from my ass with my street slang shit!"

He balls his hands into fists and keep them at his sides, as if the man behind the camera is Maxwell and he's ready to fight! " I'm going to leave a gaping hole in your head bigger than Lucy Wylde's backside after a night of ass blasting!" A comment like that is usually made in some kind of perverted jest, but in this mood swing he's currently in, it's more like some kind of twisted promise to the both of them.

"He says I have all the clues... but that I've hid them all. He might be right on that point, because I play my cards close to my chest, and a real goon doesn't reveal his moves, his motives, everything." He grins widely again, like a man who has realized something that you don't. He taps his temple with his right forefinger. He continues to grin while he speaks, a toothily grin that holds some kind of eerie expression about it. "But I will reveal this to you, Max. Your whole little bit about make 'em wish they were dead. You can't do that to me." He starts laughing. "Because I wish I was dead. I wish I was dead! I WISH I WAS DEAD!"

He starts shouting, flailing his arms and hands while he does so like a true angry Italian, causing some of the staff in the background to turn and see what the commotion is before going back to their business. "I WISH I WAS DEAD! I ALREADY DO! ALL THE PAIN I'VE HAD TO GO THROUGH GROWING UP WHERE I GREW UP! THE ONLY THINGS YOU AND I HAVE IN COMMON IS THAT WE WERE FROM THE STREETS AND WE'RE NOT ALL THERE!..... But I know you're not as insane as you say you are. You sarcastically call yourself perfectly sane, but if somebody told you to walk through MY neighborhood you'd change your tune and be a perfect gentleman!" His eyes peer into the camera coldly. In a moment of silence, the camera just captures his anger and hate for his opponent, yet at the same time... respect, because it's obvious somebody who wasn't worth his time wouldn't get him this angry. "You're going far here, but not far enough because you've got me to deal with now. So while you're fucking around with some girl named after the bitch from the Terminator movies, I'll be working on putting your homeless ass back on the streets you greasy old prick you!"

His eyes grow wide, and he raises his fists out at his sides, but bent at the elbows. He leans his head back and groans like some kind of strange power is coursing through his body. "OOooooo--OOO! You're the #1 seed to get planted in the goddamn ground by ME! And speaking of being put in the ground, you want to put on the internet your video and call it Street Bred, Street Cred, Street DEAD! Huh?! You'e goddamn RIGHT I'll be street dead! If I'm going to die anywhere, it's going to be in the streets! It's not going to be in the ring and it DAMN sure won't be by your hand! You crazy old FOOL! You're insane for even CONSIDERING you're walking out of Birmingham the winner!"

He takes in a deep breath as if he's trying to calm down. It seems to be working because his tone is going quieter. "You're insane by most people's definition of insanity because... Insanity can be defined by a few things. You really are insane because... a few things that define it are somebody who can't distinguish fantasy from reality. It's someone who has a low intelligence and it fucks them up because of their old age or an injury. So you're a dumbass who has hit his head too hard and can't determine that his fantasy of beating me isn't the reality that's ahead! Disregard the fact that I've been making short work of the competition. Disregard the fact that I sent Drew Stevenson, a well established champion and hall of famer in his own right and sent him packing. Disregard the fact that Garland is in this match. Why he put himself in this match, I'll never know. And disregard the fact that I'd deep dick Lucy so hard I'd tame the Wylde... You fuck with me, Max..." He stares daggers into the camera. "You fuck with me and you'll find out the TRUE definition of insanity..."

He starts to chuckle, which leads into deep, dark laughter. "You want me to sing you a song still? Okay..."

He lowers his head, clearing his throat and he starts to sing. "Amaaaaazing Graaaaaace... How sweeeet the sound... That saaaaaved a wretch.... Like meeeeeeee.... I oooooonce was loooost... but noooooow I'm foooooound. Was blind, but nooooow I seeeeeeeee....."

With another slow shake of his head, he finishes by concluding. "I see..... I see... and I'll see you when I see you, Max..." He forms a gun with his right hand and puts it against the camera before the scene fades to black.