Politicians And Gangsters

The weather is still cold out, but Frankie wouldn’t know it. The shot opens up to Frankie Cocheese standing in a much warmer car garage. The garage is nothing short of extravagant. The walls are a clean white, the marbled floors are buffed so clean you can see your reflection in them. There’s at least two floors, as well as elevator off to the right. Frankie is in the center of the garage. Behind him appears to be a ramp to the upper level, as well as big screen tvs that monitor everything going on outside. The monitors hang above a workman’s area with many tools for repairing the cars. On each side of Frankie is a row of various exotic sportscars.

Frankie has on a T-shirt that reads in generic white font ''Cocheese 202'' in a spoof of Scotty Addams’ shirt. The rest of his attire is a black DC Nationals fitted hat on backwards, denim shorts, white socks and black vans with white soles. The camera follows Frankie as he turns to head towards an Emerald Green colored Bugatti Veyron. The camera catches that the back of his t-shirt reads ''Better Than Platinum'' in the same generic white font.

He folds his arms across his chest, leaning against the car’s left headlight, crossing his feet at the ankles. "Here we are again, back with another installment. Take a look at this sexy lil thing behind me… Ain’t she a beaut?" He smiles down to the car in admiration as he passes the fingertips of his right hand over the gorgeous paint job. "I ain’t gonna front, this place ain’t mine." He looks to face the camera now. "You should know whose place this is, Scotty. And if you don’t, well, you’re not as friendly with Drew Stevenson as you like to say you are. I honestly think that’s the case because…" He pauses for a moment. "You really had the audacity to look at my last video and tell me I can sit in the cold weather in a car in a random city. You should know better. When I get you in the ring, I’m gonna slap you in the back of the head and ask you what’s the matter with you. Guess you didn’t stick around for the end of my video. That was, and this is, Kansas City, Missouri, and right now I’m in the car garage of Mr. Motherfuckin Drew Stevenson, the man I say I put away. From the looks of everything… I’d say I did him a favor…"

He looks around the room, staring in amazement at everything the viewers had just seen before. "Another thing I’m not going to lie about, is that Drew and I both watched your video over hotdogs and beer. And as he was flipping a hotdog over on that hot ass grill, he made a casual comment that I think is pretty true. He said y’know, Scotty says the same thing over and over, doesn’t he? He always says he’s constantly better in every match. I thought about it, and I took a sip of some German beer that Drew imported and I said… Y’know what, Drew? You’re right. Look at it, every other time, he goes on about how he’s Mr. Never Say Die, how he’s better than before. So… what does that mean, exactly?"

Frankie raises a brow, halting as if he’s waiting for Scotty to answer that for him. "Does this mean I gotta do 4 suplexes on you instead of 3? Does this mean I gotta Toe Tag you twice in order to beat you? Because at this point, I really wouldn’t mind doing that." He snickers, shaking his head slowly. "Ahh, man, but you know what?" He unfolds his arms and claps his hands together once. "Let’s get serious and break everything down, Scotty. Because I honestly think you’re the one that’s having things go over his head, not me, and I’d say that’s pretty hard to manage for you what with that fucked up haircut you’re always sportin’. Anyway…"

He runs his right hand over his face, wiping that smirk that reappears on his face after that snap at Scotty for his hair. When his right hand passes over his face, a serious expression is held in his visage.

"Let’s address the fact that you think I underestimated you. Let’s address how you say that about everybody, Mr. Never Say Die. You’ve known me long enough to know, that everybody I’ve plowed through, I never underestimated. Hell I never underestimated my last opponent and he’s pushin in his middle ages while livin with his mom. He showed me he at least deserves to be in that ring. I don’t underestimate him. I don’t underestimate anybody. I don’t underestimate you, Scotty! I estimate you just fine. In fact, I estimate you’ll be flat on your back for longer than three seconds after a Toe Tagger." No smile, no faint little laugh or smirk after that, just a long, hard stare into the camera’s lens as if that lens was the eyes of his opponent. "Again, you’ve got some nerve, talking about how I’m not in a position to make the accusations I am." He puts his hands up, eyes going wide. "Woah. Woah. Woah now…" He lowers his hands, as well as his eyes in a half-lidded gaze. "You really don’t get it. That, or you do, but you’re covering it all up. It shouldn’t matter what position I’m in. What you’re doing is wrong and you know it. You’re coming in over guys who deserve that spot and instead of being the Scotty Addams of old, instead of being Mister Hash Tag Jokers Rise Up and fight against bullshit like that, you’re acting like you deserve it! Listen here, fuckstick, and I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’ve been having to do this for the past couple of days and deal with this out of you but…"

He moves to stand in front of the car, directly in the center. He leans forward but puts his hands behind him to rest flat on the hood of the car. "No, you’re not fighting over a championship with me. But you came right into a main event spot over the backs of men who have busted their ass in the RWD to try to get that main event spot. How you fail to realize this, I’ll never know, but take a look at a guy like Hayden Phoenix. No, I don’t like the motherfucker and I’ve had my battles with him over in Missouri State Wrestling but one thing I’ll say about him is that he’s got drive. He’s been to three other feds, and they’ve all closed down just as he was working his way up the ladder, and when he came to each one, guess what?" He licks his lips, letting silence fall briefly. "... You think I’m about to say that’s right, you guessed it, he had to work his way back up the ladder each time? No, I’m saying I can’t believe you didn’t guess it, because I honestly think you still don’t get it. He had to work his way back up the ladder. Nothing he did before in the previous fed mattered. Nothing YOU’VE done before, mattered, Scotty. So while you go on your little trip down memory lane about how you’ve come up." He holds up a finger for a moment. "Which, by the way, it took me much less time than you did to come up and win titles but again, that doesn’t matter here. I SHOULD be preaching to the choir here, because you were the one who loved to say what you’ve done before shouldn’t matter. It’s what happens in that ring today that matters. Nothing you’ve done before matters, so that shouldn’t entitle you to come waltzing in to a main event slot. Do you understand now? What don’t you understand? Seriously, I want you to answer that in your next video. What don’t you understand? Do you think this is me being mad? You think I’m WHINING that I have to face you? You think I’m throwing a fit saying wah mine mine mine baby wants his bottle? No… Scotty. No."

He narrows his eyes, pushing himself away from the car and walking up towards the camera. "I’m trying to tell you that you’re in over your head. I’m trying to help you realize that you’re being the thing that you grew to despise your whole CAREER but because things are okay for YOU then it’s all good. I really have no qualms in facing you, because I know it’s going to end the same way before, just might take a little longer since you’re ''better'' now, which translates to me that you’re just better at taking an ass kicking. I’m trying to tell the rest of the RWD that if they’re okay with being stepping stones while you just casually move yourself into the main event spot, then that’s fine with me. If you wouldn’t call cherry picking your spot and moving into the main event privileged, then what would you call it? You’re stepping on my toes and not expecting me to smack the shit out of you but instead telling me to ''Get over it?'' Oh, trust me, I’ll get over it, I’ll get over it when I get over you for the cover and the three count. Trust me. I’m sleeping like a motherfucking baby now, and I will be after Sunday Night Combat."

Frankie nods his head, believing himself with that statement, even if nobody else does. "I don’t know if you realize this, Scotty, but you should know me by now that I was BORN pissed off at the world. I come from a city where every day, Politicians get together and make bullshit laws. They play with peoples’ LIVES while we’re suffering in their very back yard, right across the water! So I don’t exactly have the greatest outlook on the world. And before anybody starts to think that I’ve been praising people and spitting the truth and I’m suddenly turning over a new leaf, let me explain something to you. If I" He points at the center of his chest with both hands for a moment, classic Italian. "was offered the same thing Scotty is being offered, right into the main event spot, I’d take it and I don’t care who I’m fucking over to get it. But the thing is, I don’t kiss ass to get offered a spot like that. I grew up in DC watching these Politicians lie and fuck over the people. Scotty’s reminding me of one of them right now. He’s going on about how there’s no sweet deal, but he said already in his first video that he met up with Rech and the deal was done. You need me to play back the audio on that?"

An audio track of Scotty’s first video is heard:


"Riiiight... so… you didn’t make a sweet deal? You come in, get slotted right into the main event spot, not even care that you’re stepping on toes and get put in the #4 slot of the power top 10, just adding more to the Scotty Addams stock and portfolio? Without having to do anything? Sounds like a pretty sweet fuckin deal to me! Scotty let me tell you somethin, you’re the politician, and I’m the street motherfucker. You front like you’re for the people, and against all the backstage politics and corruption, but when you get caught in the act you try to play coverup like it never existed. You’re disregarding the fact that you kissed Rech’s ass. You’re all ‘oh well I didn’t ask to get on the power 10’ but at the same time you admit you CHOSE to face me and got it. It doesn’t matter if you asked to get in the power 10, you should know better and you should know the fact that you kissed ass to get the #4 slot and this match with me. The fact that you’re kissing ass doesn’t matter if you asked for it or not, you got this because you did what you did." He points once more like he did in the car on the way over. "And you know that it’s wrong. The politician in you is trying to ease your conscience about it. The gangster in me, see, doesn’t give a fuck. Like I said, if the roles were reversed, if I had your spot, I wouldn’t care. The thing is, I openly admit it, and motherfuckers know, but I don’t kiss ass, I’d only get that spot if the promoter felt the need to hand it to me. If a promoter felt the need to give me that spot, goddamn right I’m gonna reach out and take it, and if anybody’s got a problem with me about it, they can see me in the ring or after the show. Thing is, I’m not gonna ask for nobody’s help. Play back a few episodes and you’ll see I told Badger not to fucking come out and help me. Basically, all I’m asking you to do is just admit it, Scotty. Admit that you’re playing backstage politics to get this spot. Everybody can see you did. Drew Stevenson can see that you did, too."

Speaking of the Emerald Warrior, Frankie moves back to the car behind him and starts to rub his right hand over the hood of the car. He then balls his right hand into a fist and gives the hood a little knock. "Since we’re on Drew now, I like how you bring up the fact that you’ve beaten Drew, but you fail to state that Drew has beaten you on more than one occasion. Matter of fact, I’d say between the two of you, he’s made you his whipping boy. Oh there’s a street down memory lane you didn’t want to drive past, huh? Hold on tight, we’re gonna take this sweet Bugatti here down memory lane, since I know Drew won’t mind if I give this bad boy a spin."

He reaches into his pocket for a key that has a remote dangling from the keychain. He hits a button and the car beeps, letting him inside. He gets in, closes the door and rolls down the window as the camera fixes on him. He peeks his head out, looking to the camera. "Now you can go ahead and say he’s beaten me his fair share too and that’s fine but at the risk of shitting in his yard since I’m in his house right now, I’d say we’re pretty even, or maybe I got the one up on him since I put him in retirement." Frankie shrugs his shoulders casually. "Before I start this bad boy up, I got a question for you, Scotty. Once upon a time you didn’t like how people would bury you, now you’re saying nobody’s competition in the RWD but you? Why’s that? You’re over here burying the RWD locker room, talking about you’re the best competition for me like nobody else is. I’m sure the rest of the guys don’t like the sound of that. You’re coming in here saying nobody’s been able to give me competition like you’re going to be some big savior of the RWD but what you fail to realize is that you’re shitting on what you’re trying to save because you said yourself nobody has been really able to challenge me. Hope y’all are listenin, Scotty Addams doesn’t think y’all are a challenge. Heh. Looks like the burial artists in Knoxville passed the torch, or should I say shovel?"

The engine roars to life as Frankie turns the key and the lights on the dashboard start to glow an emerald green. "Let’s take the first turn down memory lane, which is right nearby since it’s gotta do with your last video. You deny sliding your way into the main event spot and the power rankings, but then got the gall to say that I’m right there with you. Yeah, I’m right there in the Main Event spot with you. Only thing is, I worked for my spot in the RWD, you didn’t. And you can’t deny that. You deny that, you’ll be proving me right. I don’t give a shit what you’ve earned. I don’t give a shit that you’re spending your money in a restaurant catering to the big leagues like you’re some fan. Like Kermit sippin tea that shit’s none of my business. I don’t give a shit how long you’ve busted your ass in other leagues. The fact of the matter is, you want to kill my momentum. You want to come in and kill my momentum when you don’t DESERVE to! And THAT’S why I don’t like you to call me FRIEND. Point blank. Simple and plain. You don’t deserve this. You know damn well you put up that petition, because it says straight out that you were the leader when there wasn’t one. You know damn well you’re going over the backs of everybody in the RWD but you refuse to admit it. And you know damn well everything you’ve done before doesn’t matter here and now, so why are you preaching like it does? Memory lane is a fun stroll, isn’t it?"

Frankie looks over near the radio, turning up the heat as he figures the car has warmed up enough. "For our last stop at memory lane, since you want to go on about what you’ve done before, let’s talk about how you would always choke, and that’s why it took you so long to win the big one. Mr. Choke. Since what you’ve done before should matter, how about that? Don’t wanna remember that now, do you?" He puts his right hand on 12 o’clock on the steering wheel, suckling on his front teeth loudly. "Just remember this. When I’m done with you, you’re going back to the days where you’ll be a glorified stuntman. Remember those days? Back in Jersey? Drew Stevenson remembers. Pepperidge Farm remembers too shout out to Pepperidge Farm for some product placement. Mr. Never Say Die… next Sunday… You’re gonna wish you were dead…"

He makes a gun motion out the window of the car, right towards the camera. "See you when I see you…" He hits a button above the rear view mirror and the garage door starts to open up. He rolls up the window and starts to ride out of the garage. The scene fades to black before the license plate can be seen.